


Black Mountains

by Bindweed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Canon Compliant, Drinking, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, Original Character(s), Remus Lupin POV, Swearing, Trauma, War, Werewolves, dark themes, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-06-18 03:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15476331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bindweed/pseuds/Bindweed
Summary: Remus Lupin goes to live amongst a Werewolf pack for the Order. Gathering information and trying to prevent them from aligning themselves with Voldemort. He is committed to the fight, his friends worry that he istoocommitted, neglecting his own well being as he struggles with his grief and his identity as a werewolf.





	1. Sheffield Squat

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been nearly two years in the making! I'm about half way through writing it & the rest is all planned. There are still little bits that aren't quite right & irritate me, but you have to let go at some point - so here goes ...

‘How’d you know where to find us?’ the man growled, his face mere inches from Remus’, he had cruel narrowed eyes and his breath was rancid.

Remus was slumped dazedly against a wall, all too aware of how much alcohol he had drunk. He was trying to explain himself to Greyback’s followers, who were also very drunk. At least it was even.

‘The Orders not completely useless,’ Remus snapped back to the towering man before him.

‘Really?’ 

The man roughly grabbed Remus’ collar and pinned him to the wall, partially blocking Remus’ windpipe with his vice like grip. He let out a strangled cry. The man ignored it and with his free hand rummaged inside Remus’ magically enlarged pockets.

‘What’s this?’ 

Remus tried to focus on what was being shaken right in front of his face. Brown wool. 

‘Just spare clothes,’ Remus gasped, clearly suspicious the man went back to searching through his pockets. ‘I don’t have my wand on me. Just clothes and a first aid kit.’ 

‘A what?’ The man asked as if he had never heard of such a thing. 

‘You know, to heal wounds. We live in dangerous times.’ 

Remus’ interrogator snorted, ‘you certainly do.’ 

Satisfied he relinquished his hold sending Remus stumbling into a stack of rubbled bricks. 

‘What brought you ‘ere then? Thought you’d just wonder in and spy on us?’ 

‘That was the Order’s plan,’ Remus said as he scrambled to gather his clothes off the filthy floor, stuffing them back into his pockets. 

‘And your plan?’ 

‘keep drinking,’ Remus slurred as he reached for another bottle off the nearby plastic table. As he fumbled to remove the cap he realised that he was being stared at by another one of the older men. ‘Are you going to object?’ 

The man studied him carefully. Remus tried to stare back at him but his vision was beginning to blur. The man took Remus’ bottle, removed the cap, and handed it back. Remus muttered a thank you and took a long swig. 

There were seven men huddled around a fire that was burning in a blackened oil drum. They sat in old chairs sheltering from the drizzle under the dirty-red brick arch that led into the warehouse. There were armchairs leaking stuffing and office chairs with their backs bent crookedly backwards. Remus slumped down into a spare chair and listened to their bickering. 

‘Why don’t you shut up you toothless twat!’ 

‘Oooii!’ A scraggly looking man protested, ‘it was the bloody Ministry that ripped out my teeth!’ 

‘How did you end up toothless Tony?’ another young man snickered. 

‘The bloody Ministry!’ the toothless man repeated, his voice rising perilously. Remus squinted more closely at him. He could see a gaping gap where Tony’s top teeth should have been and a thin moustache failing to hide how his lip hung awkwardly over the hole. He did look funny. 

‘Yeah we gathered that. How?’ 

‘Well I accidently bit a kid one full moon and the Man cursed the shit out of me -’ 

‘The Man?’ Remus cut in. 

‘The Werewolf Capture Unit, the Aurors, anyone from the Ministry. Take your pick,’ a blonde haired man drawled. 

‘Ah,’ was all the response Remus gave. 

‘What was it like? To bite someone?’ asked an eager voice. 

Remus tensed, his knuckles whiting as he grasped his bottle more tightly, he looked round sharply suddenly sobering as he tried to gauge the reaction. They all looked as uncomfortable as him or else were remarkably disinterested. 

‘Shut up Scabior,’ the blond one said wearily. 

‘You’re such an arse licker -’ 

‘Am not!’ Scabior shouted over their laughter. 

The sound was making Remus’ addled head ring, his brief moment of sobriety passed. 

As it died down Scabior clumsily jabbed a finger at the offender, a young man with olive brown skin who was still laughing. ‘You’re one to talk, you’re a fuckin’ idiot!’ 

Everyone seemed to be saying something but only broken sentences and odd words managed to make it through Remus’ rushing ears. 

‘Oi!’ 

‘You got a problem!’ 

‘Fuck you.’ 

‘Jerry is a bloody genius compared to you. Now shut up Scabior!’ One of the older men shouted over the din and effectively settled the younger men’s squabbling. They all slurped their drinks for a moment looking rebellious. 

‘Don’t you love the Ministry? That’s what Greyback says.’ 

Remus blinked dazedly as Scabior rounded on him. The others followed suit. 

‘A _tame_ wolf.’ 

‘Weak wolf more like.’ 

‘No!’ Remus heard himself say, ‘I hate the Ministry. Who wouldn’t?’ 

They were all staring at him sceptically, the air prickling with tension. Merlin he missed his wand. 

‘Look at me. A completely pissed depressive werewolf with nothing!’ Remus blustered as his cheeks flushed. 

‘We aint’ going to argue with you there,’ someone jeered. 

Remus could feel his ears begin to burn and his heart pound with anger. 

‘How do you think I could _love_ the Ministry! I’ve never once stepped out of line and they’ve what, nothing,’ Remus stuttered in his drunken rage. They were all still staring at him. 

‘Do you think I’m not angry? That I think it’s ok? To be treated like shit! The amount of times I’ve been moved on by the Ministry because some neighbour six miles away across a field thinks I’m going to murder them while they sleep or eat their pet owl or something.’ Remus ran out of words. 

They were still laughing, but with him now. They all knew those absurd snap judgements and suspicious mutterings that followed them everywhere they went. They knew. Remus slumped back in his chair and took a long swig from his bottle. Finishing it he reached for another. They were all shouting and grumbling, jostling to get someone to listen to their story. It was like some absurd game of top trumps, all competing for the most derogatory, or humiliating, or painful experience. 

Scabior was loudly extolling to the room how he had ‘the shit kicked out of me’ whilst begging in Diagon Alley. Why he had risked begging in the busiest of the wizarding streets at all was a mystery to Remus. 

Tony was still rattling on about his teeth, or rather lack of them. ‘They cursed them right out they did. And I was still transformed and all. I never meant to bite the kid! They bled for days. But I couldn’t go to St Mungo’s could I? 

Remus lost track of Tony’s voice as the older two started regaling their own tale of how they had been beaten up during an interview by ‘the Man’. The one that had interrogated Remus earlier, a man named Hati, was now leaning towards his audience, who were suitably captivated and horrified all at once. 

‘They used some wand magic on Sköll and he got these nasty red spots all swollen like - like boils or summint’. All over him they were, right down to his ball sack!’ 

This was greeted by sounds of eager commiseration. 

‘They kept bloody askin’ why we’d been in The Grimacing Gargoyle then some poncy official came in, course this was back when the Werewolf Support Services still existed -’ 

‘Uptight bastards,’ Sköll muttered darkly. 

‘So this Ministry Man was shitin’ himself over Sköll’s bloody boils. An’ we told him we’d had nothin’ to do with it, were’nt nowhere near The Grimacing Gargoyle - and the bloody idiot believed us!’ 

‘Hook, line and sinker!’ Sköll chortled. 

Hati broke off in a laugh before ending his tale triumphantly, ‘then if you can believe it he made the Capture Unit let us go an’ let us walk right out the door with twenty galleons in compensation!’ 

Their laughter rang out across the warehouse. Remus surmised that whatever the accusation had been they were clearly guilty. 

As they quietened Remus could still hear Scabior’s monologue, ‘I mean I know I had some venomous tentacula seeds on me but I were only holding on to them for someone else. That don’t mean they can beat me up in the street now does it?’ 

Jerry chipped in morosely; ‘I just want a girl’. 

‘Greyback got a few girls for us last time I were ‘ere,’ Tony said excitedly, ‘maybe he’d get some -’ 

‘You’re alright,’ Jerry told him, scowling at the thought, ‘I want a nice girl.’ 

Remus knew a nice girl. In fact she was a lot more than just nice, she was … Remus’ beer drowned mind floundered for a suitable word for Tonks. She was so – alive. 

Without fully realising it Remus found that he was talking. 

‘I want a family; children, a nice normal little house, the lot.’ Remus murmured half into his bottle, ‘If I could be what she deserves -’ 

‘Really? You mad? I’d take anyone who’d have me,’ Jerry said, incredulous at Remus’ sense of duty. 

A massive muscled youth had tears running thickly down his cheeks. Clearly they had reached the overly emotional stage. Jerry patted him on the shoulder, reassuring him in what was supposed to be a whisper, ‘don’t cry over your mum Curtis. At least she still talks to you.’ 

The blonde gave a sour laugh. ‘Sod family, I just want my own place and a clean bed,’ he said picking at the grime embedded wall with distaste. So they were not all impervious to dirt Remus noted wryly. 

That was his last thought as blackness was encroaching at the edges of Remus’ vision now, his head lolling. The rumblings of people speaking were becoming more indistinct. He flumped back heavily in his chair as weariness engulfed him. 

* * *

Remus cautiously sat up and peered around the dark room. He was in a derelict warehouse that had since been filled with more domestic items, himself being sat on an old broken desk chair. He must have passed out and been slumped back for hours on end judging from his pounding head and cramped neck. Merlin! He had drunk far more than he had intended. He cast his mind back trying to remember what had been said. Something about how Tony became toothless, then he had ranted about hating the Ministry and being moved on all the time. Then what? The end of the night was lost. It was just a vague recollection of a lot of shouting about their miserable lives. The anger had come so easily. He could only hope that he had kept his ranting to anti-Ministry topics and not divulged into anything else too revealing. Well he was still alive, which Remus decided to interpret as a good sign. 

‘Mornin’ Remus.’ 

Remus looked up sharply to find that he was being greeted by a hardened looking middle aged man with scars running up from his cheek and disappearing into his hair line. He felt certain that he had learnt the man’s name last night, but it was gone now. 

‘Didn’t do anythin’ you regret las’ night did yeh? It can be like that when you drink.’ 

With his mind still fogged Remus considered how to respond whilst maintaining, what he hoped, was a nonchalant air. 

‘I could probably do with drinking more often,’ he uttered, that should be a suitably pliant response he thought. 

The man laughed, making Remus wince as his head was still very tender, ‘You’re in the right place!’ 

‘Here you are then, breakfast!’ 

Another, younger man, slammed an opened bottle in front of him whilst prying one open for himself. 

Damn. Why had he said that. 

Remus knocked back the brown liquid swallowing hard trying to stop himself from gagging. At least the men seemed to lose interest in him as they all nursed their own hangovers. Remus groaned and as he let himself flump over his legs his buzzing head cradled between his knees. Sirius and James would have been laughing until their eyes streamed with tears if they had seen him now. 

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur of alcohol, ranting, and uncomfortable night’s sleep. They were cautious of him, keeping their distance and giving him searching looks, but they did not question him outright. Remus was mostly quiet and set about learning who the other men were. 

There were seven of them. The two middle aged ones were clearly in charge. They were Sköll and Hati, two infamous long time accomplices to Fenrir Greyback. The rest were all much younger, probably in their early twenties. The young men seemed to be split into two groups. In one was Curtis and Jerry; the other Jack, Tony and Jared. Remus suspected that for the most part they lived out in the countryside in different so called packs. 

Beyond this strategic assessment Remus was unavoidably struck by the bestial smell that seemed to emanate from them, stale alcohol and a lingering acrid smoke, like that which always emitted from Mundungus Fletcher’s pipe. Although unpleasant it did for the most part mask over the plethora of other obnoxious smells, body odour and unwashed clothes, that had built up either through a lack of amenities or a lack of inclination. 

They were the sort of men that might excite pity from other people were it not for something about them that caused an overriding feeling of repulsion and fear that made well-to-do people cross the street and pretend they couldn’t see them. Although they would later on, in the comfortable safety of their home, talk at length about what a terrible shame it was that they couldn’t do more for those kind of people, before all agreeing, that those kind of people really must have brought it upon themselves and were most probably a danger to public order, and then having talked themselves out of their concerns they could happily go back to ignoring their existence. Remus could hardly blame people for such a reaction, quite apart from the smell, their appearances ranged from a general air of unkemptness to the sort of cultivated wildness that Greyback modelled, pointed brittle nails and long knotted hair, and, most disturbingly of all to Remus, sharpened fang like teeth. 

Their squat was just as foul as themselves, it was one of the old industrial buildings that had been part of Sheffield’s once thriving steel industry, but it had been derelict for years. They were locked off from the rest of the city by a ten foot, barbed wire topped wall. Inside there was a small courtyard with an impressive range of weeds and brambles as well as years’ worth of litter. Broken bottles and bedraggled furniture created an obstacle course across the courtyard and all through the warehouse that was supposed to be a living space. 

The interior was dank and miserable enough to rival even Grimmauld Place. The September air, unusually cold and damp, whistled in through broken windows which they attempted to keep at bay by keeping a fire burning. It was not a magical fire, in fact the whole place was distinctly un-magical. The only exception being a basement clearly set up for safe transformations, and re-enforced with strong spellwork. There were no amenities of any form and to Remus’ disgust they used a hole in the ground as a toilet. He was actually glad to be spending the whole time drunk as it made the grim conditions somewhat more bearable. 

It was getting close to the full moon, and it was becoming apparent that they were going to be transforming in the warehouse. The younger men were clearly not happy with the arrangement and argued with Hati and Sköll at every opportunity. 

‘Why can’t we go back to the main packs?’ 

‘This is a shit place to transform -’ 

‘Greyback is always saying that we shouldn’t have to transform in confinement!’ 

‘We’re stayin’ here!’ Sköll shouted over the top of their complaints. 

‘It’s because of him ain’t it that we can’t go back to Black Mountains!’ Scabior said pointing accusatorily at Remus. 

‘Shut up Scabior!’ Hati growled. 

Sköll put an end to the argument, ‘we hav’ a package we need to collect after.’ On seeing the still rebellious looks of the young men he added, ‘why don’t you go get somethin’ for when we transform?’ 

Scabior moaned, ‘like what?’ 

‘There’s a butchers a couple of streets away, go there,’ Hati snapped back. 

The young men grumbled but did not voice any more complaints. After a while Curtis and Jerry disappeared in search of something to distract transformed werewolves with. The blonde haired Jack and Toothless Tony had made themselves scarce as well, presumably so as to avoid the still moody Scabior. 

Despite Sköll’s reply to Scabior, Remus suspected that they were transforming here to see if he really would stay. To distract his thoughts from the next transformation, and indeed the next test, Remus wondered where the Black Mountains were. The name sounded familiar, but he could not remember precisely. It reminded him of his parents; perhaps it was one of the many places they had lived – they had moved around so often – or perhaps it was one of the many places where his dad had done his research into non-beings. It was not much to go on. His head throbbed dully, no doubt caused by his current diet of alcohol and tinned food. As changing his diet was not an option he decided to stop thinking instead. 

Remus was listening to the rain pattering down on the windows when he saw a damp looking Curtis and Jerry return and start hauling a pigs’ carcass into the basement. He was not too sure how they had acquired it, although he was certain they had not purchased it. It had been cut from the naval up to its chin revealing the dark pink innards; it was, in some grotesque way, fascinating. The pig made sickening thuds as it was dragged down the stairs its beady eyes starring stupidly up at them, as if wondering what it had done to deserve such an end. 

‘Won’t people realise?’ Remus asked his eyes still fixed on the pink corpse. 

‘No. We don’t transform here often and when we do they just blame all the noise on the muggle university students,’ Jack told him. 

As the full moon approached they all moved down to the basement. Finally being forced to part from their alcohol and clamber down the metal staircase to sit with the dead pig. 

Scabior was boasting, in what Remus was all too aware by now, was Scabior’s usual tone. ‘Can’t wait to sink my teeth into that bad beast’, he kept up his monologue in spite of receiving no replies. 

They all got undressed, throwing their clothes back up into the safety of the room above. It was surreal. Remus tried to look relaxed; completely butt naked in a filthy hovel surrounded by uncouth dangerous idiots and they were all about to turn into bloodthirsty monsters. Though perhaps some of them already were. It needed to be done he schooled himself as panic rose inside him as if he was being faced with a stampeding erumpent, and besides there was no turning back now. It was safe he knew that, Dumbledore had assured him, it was safe to transform here. Even Scabior’s bravado had worn down. It was nearly time. The hatch was shut cutting them off from the world, but Remus knew, there was no escaping the effect of the full moon. 

Shoulders hunching, skull crushed and stretched. Pins piercing through finger tips as claws forced through, the spine tugged taut as the tail sprouted. Ribs compressed as they shrunk down, it was a struggle to breath. Panting on the floor, aching all over, and the sound of whimpering all around. 

Others. There were others surrounding him. Remus sniffed the air. And blood, there was blood too. He felt ravenous. Saliva dripped at the corners of his mouth as he breathed in the heady scent. The others were already there, shredding and devouring the juicy flesh. He was so hungry. Remus padded over to the food, snapping at one another, scrapping so as to get closer to the food. At last he sunk his teeth into the corpse, the rich taste of blood satisfying him. But it wasn’t enough, it was never enough, it was never quite what he needed. He licked hungrily at the blood strewn floor, twisting his neck to get more off his fur, desperate for every paltry drop. 

* * *


	2. The Past Dictates the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to messrsmemoirs on tumblr for her blog & for celebrating Remus Lupin so much! Looking through it really helped in the development of this story.

‘Would you have done it?’ Sirius asked. 

‘Done what?’ Remus replied, although he already had an idea of where Sirius’ questioning was heading. 

‘killed Peter?’ 

They were in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place after Molly and Arthur had moved back to the Burrow and the children had started a new year at Hogwarts. Another Order meeting over and the house was deserted; all Remus could hear were the groaning of pipes and kreacher muttering on one of the floors above. He and Sirius were sat drinking firewhisky together until the early hours and Remus was heavy-headed with a dull headache forming behind his eyes but he knew in an instant what his answer was. 

‘Yes.’ He still remembered that feeling of calm, of absolute clarity, that he had felt when he found out it was Peter. The next step had been obvious. 

‘Really?’ Sirius questioned studying him over the rim of his glass. 

Remus felt a surge of anger; he still doubted. ‘I was stood there, right next to you, in the Shrieking Shack-’ 

‘No. I don’t Remus, that’s not what I meant,’ Sirius said quickly. ‘I would understand you know it’s a one way trip.’ 

‘What? Me and my golden life?’ Remus smiled sourly. 

‘You were teaching then,’ Sirius pointed out. 

‘It could never have lasted anyway,’ Remus shrugged, ‘besides when I saw him I … I needed closure.’ 

‘To finish it,’ Sirius nodded. 

They sat in silence, mulling over their memories, the past somehow defying time to always be present between them. 

Remus finally spoke. ‘Peter’s usefulness is over … he has nothing to offer Voldemort, no new information, and no real skills.’ 

Silence again. 

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, startling Remus, ‘you’re always the cool headed one out of us.’ 

Remus could see a more boisterous look in Sirius’ eyes now. 

‘When did you get so grey? You finally match your middle aged soul.’ 

‘Well you still look like you’re channelling Freddie Mercury.' 

‘Of course!’ Sirius laughed, extravagantly flipping his thick black hair that was still somehow unaffected by stress. 

Sirius sighed as he settled back into his chair, ‘I really want a shag you know.’ 

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Remus replied laughing into his drink. 

‘Old prude! I’m stuck here with just Kreacher for company.’ 

‘You’ve got Buckbeak too,’ Remus added drily. 

‘Ha! It’s all right for you. You get to go out, meet people, have a good flirt,’ Sirius said, Remus couldn’t quite tell whether his tone was jesting or bitter. He frowned for a moment then in an instant a wicked smile wiped it away, his tone now was definitely teasing, ‘not that you actually need to go anywhere. You just happen to have most of your Order missions with a certain young lady, and she keeps popping over to visit - just for tea, or a chat, or a flirt -’ 

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Remus said flatly. 

‘I don’t know why you’re complaining. Metamorphmagus sounds fun.’ 

‘You’re drunk,’ Remus sighed his smile fading. 

‘So are you,’ Sirius rebutted happily. 

‘I’m not the one making derogatory comments about my barely over twenty cousin,’ he stated irritably. 

‘No, you just lick her up with your eyes instead,’ Sirius said with another bark of laughter. 

Remus flushed deeply and studied the amber coloured Firewhisky in his glass. He bitterly wished James was here. He had always been better at telling Sirius when to stop. Sirius’ own train of thoughts seemed to be on a similar line. 

‘Do you remember when James used to start doodling at school? ‘I love Lily’ and all those love hearts - he was such a sap,’ Sirius said affectionately. ‘I wonder when Harry will have his first girlfriend, do you think we will have to endure the same level of vomit inducing devotion again?’ 

They both laughed, but Remus didn't think Sirius looked completely happy. It wasn’t a true laugh, it was somehow hollow. 

It was moments like these when the hole Azkaban had carved was clear; plagued by memories that masqueraded as comfort. He was slower at reading too, sharp still but not like he had been. It was expected of course, far better than expected in fact, but still painful to see. Although he had improved a lot, despite spending most of the last year living as a dog in a cave. Remus swiftly finished the rest of his drink and neatly poured himself another. 

Sirius had gone quiet now, starring into his nearly empty glass as he swirled the contents round and round. 

‘I still want to kill Peter,’ Sirius said breaking into Remus’ train of thoughts. 

‘So do I,’ his voice was unusually harsh. 

‘Together then?’ Sirius pressed his eyes alight with an unsettling mix of hope and vengeance. 

‘Yes,’ Remus replied simply. 

His alcohol muddled mind was nulling the usually more reasonable response. That Harry came first, that Sirius needed to stay safe, that Peter was a revenge kill not an important target. It was destabilising. The overnight overthrow of twelve years of reasoning, theories and beliefs. He had been numb for so long but that night had brought everything back up, sharpening his loss and anger. Filled him with more rage than he had felt in so many years. Yes, he still wanted to kill Peter. 

He was in pain. Muscles felt torn and bones ached. Remus slowly came round to his senses, it was post-transformation. Images of the Peter he had seen at the Shrieking Shack blazed in his mind, his beady eyes seeking an escape and balding head glistening with nervous sweat. It repulsed him, making him angry even as he lay feebly on the floor. 

And there was Sirius. His eyes hollowed and drink clasped in hand. 

Remus shook his head harshly. Causing pain to shoot up his neck and make his head throb but it helped force the memories away. 

All those happy memories to recollect of their schooldays; playing pranks or exploring the castle or just relaxing in the common room. Or him, Tonks and Sirius laughing at all the antics of the various Order members and the kids. But no, instead he had to recollect their drinking too much and maudlin over their spoilt friendship group. Why could he not be plagued by happy memories? 

Remus stared blearily up, but it was just hazy dark shapes. 

There was much to hate about transforming into a werewolf but one of the low points was the slipping in and out of consciousness just after returning to human form. The mind slipped between recollections and reality. Which, as Remus was just being reminded, was particularly unpleasant after your recently re-found childhood friend had just been murdered. 

He could hear the others; they too were moaning and shuffling trying to get comfortable. It was a truly pathetic sound. Remus sighed and tried to get his eyes to focus on his surroundings. He did not want to be the last to come round, it was not desirable for his safety or his pride. Besides Remus had never transformed with other werewolves and he was curious to see how they had reacted. He lifted his head a fraction to look around. He could see a darkened room full of battered naked men lying lamely on a filthy concrete floor. Merlin, did he look that pitiful too? For all that Scabior had bragged he was clearly in as much pain as the rest of them. The massive muscular bulk that was Curtis was curled up in a corner and Hati looked particularly grey faced, lying completely still with shallow breaths. Remus sunk back down to the floor to rest awhile as the others were clearly not going anywhere any time soon. 

The rest of the day was spent in sleeping and, to Remus’ incredulity, more drinking. Thankfully the others were so consumed by their own pains that Remus was able to avoid drinking any more. Instead he cleaned up his wounds then curled up on top of a pile of old paper, carefully wrapped himself up in what layers he had brought, and recovered his strength. 

* * *

Once they had all recuperated, and were back to their usual constant bickering, the subject of the package that needed to be collected resurfaced. 

‘The package will be dropped off soon,’ Sköll announced, getting the attention of the room, ‘and I’m going to need some of you with me.’ 

‘Oooww,’ Scabior groaned. 

Jack shot him an exasperated glance, ‘Me and Tony will go,’ he offered. Tony grunted his agreement. 

‘All right then, come on.’ 

Remus watched as the three of them expertly made their way over the debris in the yard and out of the complex. Scabior was now complaining that he had been left by himself. Remus settled himself at the furthest end of the room from Scabior and picked up an old muggle newspaper to entertain himself with. It was a dog-eared edition of The Times dated to 1989, the front page heading declared ‘Yeltsin heads for landslide in Soviet poll’. Remus sighed as memories of his time travelling resurfaced. Just after his father died he had lost yet another job, something snapped, he had got on his broom and flown away. He had travelled for a couple of years and enjoyed experiencing new cultures – although werewolf prejudice was a recurring trait - before returning home in search of a proper cup of tea. He had been in Moscow for a while. His present surroundings made him recall the feral dogs that meandered around the streets there, holing up in dank, forgotten buildings. 

The clattering sound of beer cans being kicked aside marked the return of Sköll, Jack and Tony. The latter of which was pushing a large crate along that had been mounted on an old, squeaking sack truck. Remus estimated it was roughly three foot square, but he was still none the wiser of its contents. As Tony and Jack safely stored the box, Sköll and Hati disappeared out of Remus’ sight. 

Remus returned to his paper and his musings but as he reached the sports news at the back a door banged open. Sköll and Hati reappeared, looking directly at Remus. They stalked over to him, footsteps echoing, Hati grabbed two chairs and dragged them by their backs across the concrete floor. With dramatic precision he set them carefully opposite Remus, taking time to align them before they sat down and pinned him with their cold stare. Remus straightened himself. It had all been going so peacefully he thought ruefully. 

Sköll started. ‘Why are you here?’ He asked bluntly. 

‘I wanted to come, meet some fellow werewolves.’ That wasn’t a lie. 

‘You never have before,’ Hati snarled. 

‘Greyback would have just killed me if I had tried before now-’ 

Hati snorted. 

Remus carried on, ‘-and seeing as I am still alive, I am not so unwelcome now.’ 

They tried a different tact. ‘We know about your friends keeping watch outside.’ 

Mad-Eye Moody was stationed outside waiting under his invisibility cloak in case things turned ugly, but Remus seriously doubted they had actually seen the veteran Auror. 

‘Of course,’ he sighed, ‘it is a standard Order practice.’ 

Sköll’s eyes narrowed, he was silent for a moment before deciding on his next attack. ‘Like locking up Sirius Black until he was so mental that he ran off and got himself killed was a 'standard Order practice?" he mimicked. 

Remus stiffened, his jaw clenched, Sköll smiled in satisfaction. 

‘Yes,’ Remus uttered bitterly. 

Hati let out a low laugh, ‘you have to admire Bellatrix’s ability, I’m sure she enjoyed it. But really the Order did all the hard work.’ He paused, smiling broadly while the younger men laughed and gathered around the side to get a good view. 

‘I’ve even heard that the spy in the First War was someone close,’ Hati goaded, ‘a right pathetic little weed, are they all your lots got? Hardly a surprise though really, Dumbledore always was unhinged.’ 

Their laughter rang round the warehouse, echoing in its dark corners. Remus felt fixed to his chair, his every muscle clenched with anger, as their laughter seemed to tap dance on his cherished friends and beliefs. 

‘I wonder,’ Hati went on his eyes gleaming, ‘what are your chances in the Orders lottery? Dead, coward or nutter?’ 

They all laughed as Scabior shouted out his predictions, ‘coward! Look at him. He doesn’t even know what he is.’ 

Remus stared fixedly ahead at a broken window behind which amber coloured sunlight glowed. His heart was racing and his ears glowed red with shame even though he had known to expect nothing less from his interrogators. 

As their laughter finally died down Sköll spoke again, ‘so was it your idea or theirs that you’re here?’ Sköll questioned his eyes locked on Remus. 

Remus swallowed thickly, unable to answer. Sköll lashed out, his hand smashing into Remus cheek.

’Answer me!’ Sköll shouted, as pain seared across Remus’ face. 

‘Mine,’ Remus breathed, his jaw felt so tightly set that he couldn’t open it enough to speak properly. 

‘Mmm … that so is it?’ Sköll said, his voice suddenly calm again.

Hati leaned forward, his rancid breath attacking Remus with his every word. ‘Why do you think you’re still alive, Remus?’ 

‘I’m useful,’ Remus said, but his tone betrayed his uncertainty. 

They laughed, looking back to the others to share the joke. Remus let out a shaky breath at this reprieve from their stare. 

‘We’ll see!’ 

Hati lunged forwards, grabbing Remus tightly by the collar, taking him completely by surprise. He couldn’t see clearly as black spots appeared and he gasped for air. He was being dragged backwards, his feet stumbling trying to keep upright. His overcoat, with the magic pockets, was ripped off and he was roughly thrown down into a black room. The hatch overhead was grated shut leaving him in the dark. He was back in the transformation cellar. 

It was still covered in blood, sticky and foul-smelling. Remus curled up in the corner, where he had a clear sight of the entrance and tried to calm his panicked breaths. Remus hadn’t realised when they transformed but it was completely silent. It was so quiet he was sure he could hear his pounding heart. _Thump-thump, thump-thump_. He found himself longing for another sound to break the pressing silence but feared what it would be. The Order would still be keeping watch, but right now, they felt a very long way away. He had no sense of time down here. He sat rigid and alert, nails digging into his shins as he crouched in the corner. His mind looped round and round on the same panicked thoughts as his heart hammered on, _thump-thump, thump, thump_ ... 

There was a loud grating sound overhead and a dazzlingly bright light flooded in, Remus blinked up still locked in his crouched position as he struggled to see clearly. 

‘Hello, Remus!’ Someone called down jovially while others laughed. 

He was grabbed and hauled back up the steps, his frantic eyes adjusting to find Sköll before him. 

Remus fought to maintain his eye contact with Sköll as he stared relentlessly at Remus, his grey eyes crinkled in amusement. Remus let out his breath in relief when Sköll and Hati glanced at each other, giving him momentary reprieve. 

‘You know about magical creatures don’t you?’ Sköll asked. 

‘Yes’, Remus murmured cautiously, surprised by the choice in topic. Was this all? 

‘Well we may have a need for your skills,’ Sköll said carefully. 

Remus listened intently, his breathing had calmed but his muscles were still taut with tension. Sköll must have spoken to Greyback, Remus doubted he could make this offer without consultation. 

‘You may know that the countryside has seen a rise in the number of- ah - less easy to control creatures as of late.’

Werewolves amongst them Remus thought bitterly, but he simply gave a stiff nod to Sköll and Hati. 

‘Well perhaps you could help, make sure everything is handled correctly. What with less familiar creatures appearing,’ Sköll elaborated. 

Remus looked warily at the crate. Just appearing out of nowhere were they? 

‘Without magic?’ He asked as he thought, not for the first time, of his wand safely stored with Mad-Eye Moody outside. Merlin he missed it. 

‘You’re a werewolf you twat.’ Scabior butted in. 

Remus blinked at him, he was not entirely sure what Scabior meant by that. 

‘We don’t need your wand magic to handle it. Now do you know abou’ them or not?’ Hati added brusquely. 

Ah pride, Remus mused, ‘well it depends … What are they? Do they need -’ on seeing Sköll’s scowl Remus dropped the questions, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. ‘I’ll probably have met with them.’ 

Sköll gave a curt nod, ‘all right. You’re to go with Jack, Tony and Scabior to the Black Mountains.’ 

Remus gave a single nod in acceptance, Hati and Sköll stood up. Hati threw Remus’ overcoat to him then departed back into the privacy of the back room. Greyback clearly felt secure enough about his position to let Remus in, he thought as he pulled his coat back on, so now it would just be a case of making sure he got more out this deal than Greyback did. 

* * *


	3. The Black Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to post a chapter once a fortnight on Sunday/Monday

The next evening they flooed from a wizarding pub in Sheffield to The Salutation Inn, they had to travel in pairs so as to appear less conspicuous. They were all known werewolves which was enough to rouse suspicion, added to that Scabior was wanted for petty crime and Tony for murder. Tony and Scabior went first, followed fifteen minutes later by Jack and Remus. As he stepped into the emerald flames Remus was sure he saw Mad-Eye in a dingy corner with his bowler hat pulled down over his magical eye. 

After the nauseating spinning Remus clambered out of the fireplace to find himself in a cosy pub, the walls had been painted a warm red and the ceiling was panelled in mahogany. The welcoming scent of a coal fire and butterbeer seemed to fill him up. The main bar area was crowded and there appeared to be a quiz night taking place. A young witch was stood by a blackboard tallying the scores with a flick of her wand whilst small groups of witches and wizards conversed conspiratorially around sheets of paper. They were all too engrossed to pay any attention to Jack and Remus as they quietly edged their way to the exit. 

Somewhat wistfully Remus left the warmth of The Salutation Inn to meet up with Tony and Scabior outside. Tony was rubbing his hands together in the crisp evening air. The past few months had been unseasonably cold and October did not look any more promising. But tonight the lurking mist of the Dementors had lifted and the clear sky fading from dazzling orange to deepest navy was beautiful, if still cold. 

They set off on a brisk walk down lanes and across fields back to their home, and, what was soon to be Remus’ home too. As they walked Remus noticed the duel language road markings, ‘SLOW; ARAF’, they were in Wales. His mother was Welsh and she had loved the countryside here. Before her passing, thankfully a peaceful natural death at the beginning of the First War, she had often brought the family on trips to picnic and show Remus all the different muggle plants and animals that she recognised. Remus smiled as he walked along, looking at the bubbling streams and mountains whose peaks glowed under the orange sunset. This was definitely preferable to the neglected Sheffield warehouse. 

They were now in the shadow of an imposing line of mountains, nestled in the crook of which was a glass-like lake that reflected back the last rays of the sun. A bit further on from the water and where the mountains sloped back down from the skies was a large wood. This place was magical. Like Hogwarts or Diagon Alley the whole place was threaded with magic. Remus gazed at the scene as they made their way across the flat grassy plains, blanking out Scabior and his continual repartee. No doubt these were the Black Mountains. 

‘Is this a magical creature reserve?’ Remus quizzed, guessing that to be the reason he sensed magic and remembering now that his dad had done some research here many years ago, sometime before Remus had gone to Hogwarts. 

They laughed. 

‘Yeah before we got here.’ 

‘Those mooncalves tasted great!’ 

Remus looked back out to the mountain framed valley. Well he was unlikely to be able to admire the local wildlife then. 

‘We will have to show you to Silas first, he’s the pack’s leader,’ Jack informed him. 

‘Will he mind me just turning up?’ Remus asked trying to gage what he was getting himself into. 

‘Well werewolves are always finding their way to packs,’ Jack replied although Remus thought he had avoided the critical information of how the leader was likely to respond. 

He was close to the lake now and Remus could make out signs of habitation. There was a large campfire circle by the water’s edge and opposite it was an overhang in the mountainside concealing several cave entrances. There did not seem to be anyone around. Jack had gone ahead to speak with Silas and the others had rushed off as well so that they could warm up, leaving Remus standing idly in the grass fields. Jack, and a tall heavy-set man with a closely shaved head that Remus assumed was Silas, re-appeared out of a cave and headed towards him. 

Silas stopped and stood squarely opposite Remus. He was clearly unbothered by the cold, wearing a grubby string vest that revealed his tattoo sleeves. Inky trees reached up his arms; within this forest on the left arm was a howling wolf, and, on the right arm just above the treetops, was a full moon. Silas stared at Remus for what must have been a full minute, making Remus feel uncomfortably childlike as he awaited his fate. 

‘If you’re to stay with us, you must work for the good of the pack.’ 

‘Of course,’ Remus said immediately. 

Silas looked at him for a moment more before making his next demand, ‘Charley and Blind Bill are about to go out for firewood. Go with them.’ 

Remus felt the tightness in his stomach loosen. He was in. 

* * *

Remus had been wondering how a man described as blind was supposed to locate firewood in the semi-dark but it soon became clear that Charley and Blind Bill had a system. Charley would find suitable branches and then Bill would saw them into portable sizes. Bill was not actually blind just very short sighted and he was able to efficiently complete his work by touch and squinting closely. Remus was enlisted into helping Charley find the firewood. They were working quickly, scouring the undergrowth of bracken and brambles for suitable wood, but still the energetic youth kept up a rapid rally of questions and observations. 

‘When were you bitten?’ 

‘Just before I turned five,’ Remus informed him tiredly. 

‘Where’re you from?’ he asked but he ploughed on before Remus could answer, ‘Silas must be pissed off with you sending you straight out here.’ 

‘I met with Hati and Sköll in Sheffield and got invited to my first pack.’ 

‘You've never been in a pack before?’ Charley yelped, before adding proudly, ‘I’ve been here since I was eight.’ 

Remus paused in his efforts to extract a particularly fine oak branch from in amongst some brambles and smiled sadly at Charley. He looked to be in his late teens, a gangly lad with pock marked skin and eyes that sparkled mischievously. No doubt he was the creation of Greyback and his drive to spread lycanthropy, just like himself, bitten as a child in a bid to separate them from normal wizarding society. Remus had been lucky, his parents had been able to care for him and then Dumbledore had provided what no other werewolf child had ever had, a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

‘Where you been then?’ Charley pressed. 

‘Oh, well, I had a job teaching for a while, that was the best.’ Seeing Charley’s still questioning gaze he added, ‘I’ve done all sorts … Bar work, labouring, even archiving. Muggle and wizarding jobs.’

Charley snorted, ‘and troll jobs?’ 

Remus sighed and smiled, ‘once or twice.’ 

Blind Bill briefly stopped his vigorous sawing. ‘You aint’ Remus Lupin are ya? That tame wolf,’ he added in clarification to Charley. 

Was that his official epitaph? Remus wondered feeling slightly vexed. ‘Yeah I’m Remus.’ 

‘Aint’ you in with Dumbledore’s lot?’ before he could reply Charley gave a low whistle, ‘you’re fuckin’ mental mate.’ 

Remus didn’t know what to say to that. 

When the light had become too dim to work by they loaded up the wood onto two wheelbarrows that Remus and Charley then pushed back to the caves. It was hard work and Remus could feel a sticky film of sweat covering him despite the increasing drop in temperature. Although, Remus reflected, the difficulty was somewhat aggravated by his having spent the past few days in a drunken stupor which had sadly done much to nullify the benefits of Moody’s intense Order training sessions. 

They walked up to the gaping rocky overhang in the mountainside where there appeared to be three cave openings leading inside. They looked as if they had mostly formed naturally but had since been worked into and expanded. The log pile was in a shallow, wide cave tucked up in a plastic tarpaulin to protect it from the damp. Charley pulled back the tarpaulin to reveal a mountain of natural wood as well as broken down furniture and crate wood, all neatly arranged from thick to thin. Remus stared at it all. What they had collected hardly seemed necessary. 

Seeing his disbelief Charley proudly explained, ‘we’re building up for the Halloween Feast.’ 

They loaded up their newly collected wood and carefully tucked it back under its cover to keep it dry. Remus stood back and brushed off his hands that were sticky with tree sap and sweat. 

‘You comin’ for a drink?’ The seemingly tireless Charley asked. 

‘I’d rather not,’ Remus groaned. 

Blind Bill chortled, ‘Had enough have ya? Sheffield is always like that.’ 

They pointed Remus to the Sleeping Caves before they headed off to join a loud group of men half hidden under a nearby tree. Remus had to dip his head slightly so as to avoid scraping it as he made his way into the rocky passage. A string of old muggle lightbulbs that looked as if they used to belong to a fairground were strung along the side giving off a kaleidoscope of coloured light. They illuminated the narrow gorge marks that were cut in the walls where miners must have worked with pickaxes decades before. As he went deeper quiet voices echoed down the tunnel and as Remus caught the sound of his name he stopped dead. Closing his eyes and concentrating on the words he made out what was being said. 

‘Greyback has gotta’ know that he’s here right?’ 

‘Well of course he does.’ Remus recognised Jack’s naturally authoritative tone. 

‘Keep your enemies close,’ rumbled a third voice that Remus thought he recognised as Silas. 

‘It’s bloody mental though! What with -’ 

But Silas cut him short, ‘you said he was in a right mess when he arrived in Sheffield?’ 

‘You think he’s faking it?’ Jack asked. 

‘I doubt it,’ Silas said. ‘He is a mess. He’s been trying to pretend that he ain’t a werewolf. It can’t end well.’ 

‘You planning therapy sessions?’ Jack said sarcastically as others laughed. 

Silas ignored the interruption, ‘I heard that he had an old friend killed off by Bellatrix and that he’s close to Dumbledore.’ 

‘We’re not going to have trouble because of him are we?’ Jack asked more seriously now. 

‘Keep an eye,’ Silas said with an air of finality and Remus could hear the footfalls of someone leaving. 

‘That’s all we bloody need,’ Jack said under his breath

Remus’ eyes snapped open as he heard a loud clatter. Glancing back to the entrance he could see a boy knelt down on the floor gathering up what appeared to be stones. 

‘Are you all right?’ Remus asked trying to work out what the boy was up to. 

‘I like to collect things. Nice things,’ the boy said defensively as he hurriedly tried to gather them back up. Remus looked on bemusedly for a moment before stooping down to help him pick up his stones. 

‘Yes, they’re a beautiful colour,’ Remus said quietly as he studied a smooth snowy white pebble in his hand. 

The boy squinted up at him as if checking Remus’ sincerity, clearly satisfied the boy said, ‘I’m Vincent, most people call me Vin.’ 

‘Well Vin, I’m Remus, do you think you could show me to a sleeping spot?’ 

The boy nodded and with his arms wrapped around his precious collection he led Remus deeper into the cave. The muggle lighting that had been wired up to illuminate the route buzzed quietly. Eventually it opened out into a large limestone cavern, stalactites reached down from the ceiling to the floor which had been levelled as much as possible. There was an array of hammocks, and blankets raised off the ground on lorry pallets. Some of them had human shaped lumps filling them whilst Remus could see other people talking or organising their few possessions. 

All was bathed in a flickering light from a Gubraithian Fire proudly placed in the centre of the cavern providing a steady warmth and light for the sleeping quarters. Remus stared at the amber and deep red flames of the everlasting fire. It was truly beautiful magic. There was no possibility that the pack was capable of the charmwork necessary to create it, they were extremely rare and difficult to create, either it was a truly impressive feat of thievery or it had been gifted to them. Remus truly hoped it was the former as the only wizards who would have given it to the werewolves were Death Eaters. 

‘I bet you can’t guess how old I am?’ 

Vincent’s voice pulled Remus back to an awareness of his young companion. Remus took a more careful look at him in the flickering light. Vincent was fresh faced and scrawny. But he was most likely older than he looked, and indeed behaved. 

‘Eleven?’ Remus guessed. 

‘Oh well I’m nearly twelve,’ Vincent shrugged. ‘Here by this rock!’ he cried, clearly delighted at being able to suggest such a scenic spot. 

Remus smiled and followed the boy over to a corner that was covered in a thick sheeting of shining multi-coloured crystal. ‘Well Vincent, it will be wonderful to have some colour around.’ 

‘Well you know it’s one of the only available spots. Ralph disappeared a couple of months back,’ Vincent replied trying to play it cool. 

‘Did he?’ Remus asked before checking himself, it was wrong to embroil the child into something that could bring him trouble, instead he asked, ‘shouldn’t you be in bed now Vin?’ 

‘Nah I aint’ tired,’ the boy said defiantly as he rearranged his grip to hug his stones more closely. 

‘To bed now Vincent,’ an elderly but firm voice called out. Remus turned to see a grey haired and bony elderly woman sat up in a particularly large pallet bed with a small child curled up by her side. 

‘But Grandmother?’ Vincent moaned. 

‘But nothing, you can talk to the new wolf tomorrow.’ 

Vincent slowly started dragging his feet to where Grandmother sat sternly beckoning him. 

‘To bed now, or you’ll be good for nothing tomorrow. The other pups are already asleep.’ Her tone softened as she added, ‘I might have a story for you.’ 

At this Vincent hurried over, safely deposited his stone collection at the side, and clambered up onto the bed by Grandmother. 

Remus smiled and stifled a yawn. He really did need sleep. He settled down onto his own bed and hoped Vincent was definitely right about its availability. He buried himself into the mass of slightly musty smelling but comfortable blankets. Mind you he probably smelt far worse than them. He turned his head to look at the crystal that flicked between subtle pinks and golds depending on the angle, reminding him of the young metamorphmagus he knew. Not that she usually choose subtle colours he thought with a smile. Then, feeling guilty, he rolled over with his back to the wall. 

* * *


	4. Magical Beasts

DRRRIIINNGGG! Remus bolted awake, heart pounding, looking round for the source of the racket. 

‘Shut that thing up!’ Someone yelled. 

A moment later there was blissful quiet. A middle aged woman was stood by a cave column re-setting what looked like an old brass alarm clock. Groans of rudely interrupted sleep filled the cavern. People were twisting and stretching ready to get up or else pulling blankets resolutely over their heads. Remus flopped back down onto his bed and rubbed his eyes, his heartbeat returning to a sensible rhythm. He had definitely not been expecting them to have an alarm clock. Though he supposed it made sense as there was no other way of knowing the time from within the cave. 

Remus hauled himself out of bed. He very much wanted to put on a fresh set of clothes but until he had a wash there would be little point. He hated being filthy, like some feral creature. Surely, he reasoned, if they had an alarm clock there had to be somewhere to get clean. 

It turned out that they used the showers of local muggle campsites, although judging by the smell, most of the pack didn’t bother to make the trip. It was not exactly convenient or luxurious but Remus would have stripped washed in the Glass Lake if it had come to it. Remus asked Jack as he seemed to maintain a decent level of cleanliness, and was told that there was the choice of Farmer Ian Morgan’s or Farmer Reece Griffiths’s campsite. The former was ‘the posh one who rang the police over anything’ and the latter was ‘a mad old git with a shotgun’. Remus chose Griffiths, he could handle madmen but the police were another matter. It was a short trek through a mountain pass to get there, but he would be mercifully alone; no moaning Scabior, no questioning Charley, no watchful Silas. 

The solitude provided Remus with an opportunity to go through his magically enlarged pockets of his overcoat. He looked through it all meticulously, checking whether Sköll and Hati had taken anything. There were all his spare clothes and his first aid kit was complete with all the rudimentary potions and ointments. Nothing seemed to be missing, feeling more relaxed Remus carried on along the mountain pass suddenly aware of how beautiful the sunny morning was. 

As the ground levelled out he was greeted by a wooden signpost proclaiming ‘Graig Farm Camping’. Thankfully, all looked quiet and not a sound resembled gunshot. It was a basic site with just some patches of cut grass for pitching tents and two shacks; one toilet, and one shower. The shower was in keeping with the nothing unessential style of the site. There was a single tap and a sawn off pipe that sputtered luke warm water. Still, it was luxury to Remus. 

* * *

As Remus returned to the pack, holding his washed clothes and feeling blissfully itchless and clean, he could see Silas waiting for him. Remus ran his free hand through his now clean hair and walked up to him, finding himself subjected once more under that unflinching gaze. 

‘What are you holding?’ 

‘My clothes needed a wash,’ Remus explained wondering how this could be so contentious. 

Silas stared at him, expression blank, before calling out, ‘Anne. Come and see to this.’ 

A young woman whose face looked painfully distorted by a werewolf’s bite wordlessly came up and took the clothes from Remus. He watched her retreat over to the lakes edge where she and the other women were scrubbing at fabric. 

‘We work as a pack here. We all have our job, and yours is to see to that,’ Silas said pointing with clear distaste at the crate that had been collected in Sheffield. 

Remus was distracted from contemplating the social roles of the pack by a high pitched cackling laughter emitting from the box. 

‘Do you have any idea what’s in that?’ Remus asked warily. 

‘No.’ Silas spat, ‘it aint the only foul creature that has been sent here. There are gytrashs and doxies too. Not to mention the bloody troll living up the mountain.’ Remus wished he had known about that before setting off to Graig Farm. Then Silas added forcefully, ‘you are to see to them. They want them kept safe but keep them away from my pack. Clear?’ 

Remus nodded, ‘Yes, of course.’ 

Silas nodded once, then he looked round and called out to another person, ‘Ethelred. Show him the way.’ 

A man who looked like he had too much skin for his body, as if he had lost a lot of weight within a short space of time, hurried over. Remus was sure he looked familiar. 

Ethelred must have seen Remus’ questioning look and explained, ‘you talked to me in the hospital, last Christmas, remember?’ 

‘Ah, yes,’ Remus said awkwardly, clearly life with lycanthropy had not been kind to Ethelred. 

‘Right well - they’re all this way,’ Ethelred said pointing vaguely out into the woods. 

They loaded the crate, now violently shaking with an angry muttering coming from within, on to a wheelbarrow and headed off into the trees. As they crunched over the freshly fallen leaves of early autumn Vincent bounded up alongside. 

‘What’s in that?’ 

‘Not too sure yet Vin.’ 

‘Can I see?’ 

Remus hesitated. If he had his wand he would have agreed to it, but without. ‘You must promise to do what I tell you, so that you stay safe and -’ 

Vincent was practically bouncing with excitement before Remus had even finished speaking. 

‘I’m going to get _everyone_.’ 

‘What? No, Vincent!’ Remus called out as the boy charged back to the caves. Remus could hear Ethelred chuckling beside him. 

Deciding it was best to get started Remus and Ethelred carried on their way winding through the woodland path and had just set the crate down in a small clearing when Vincent led a ragtag group of children over to them. 

Ethelred sighed warily. ‘I was hoping he wouldn’t find them all.’ 

‘Well show us then,’ demanded a stubborn looking teenager. 

Remus looked over the group. There were two girls and four boys all crowded around the crate, shuffling and shoving to try and get a closer look. They were all wrapped up in ill-fitting, dirty clothes and excitedly bickering amongst themselves. The youngest had somehow clambered on top of the crate and was now banging his little fist on the wood and pressing his ear up against it to listen for a reaction. 

The air was full of their shouting and screeching. 

‘Get out my space.’ 

‘Hogging hag!’ 

‘ _I_ want a look.’ 

Oh Merlin, Remus thought grimly, and to think teaching a reluctant Draco and catching students up after a year of Lockhart’s abysmal teaching had been his biggest problems at Hogwarts. 

Remus ran his hands through his hair and began, ‘well if we want to find out then you are all going to need to move. Just by that oak will do, where Ethelred is standing.’ 

‘That’s ages away,’ moaned the same stubborn teenager. 

‘Whats in there is most likely dangerous,’ Remus said, though he immediately regretted his words as it just seemed to excite them more. 

‘How do you get in?’ 

‘Nobody will be getting in until you’re behind that tree. Silas will not permit it,’ Remus said hoping that mentioning the pack leader would win some authority. 

The boy opened his mouth but a girl with long black haired girl snapped before he could speak. 

‘Shut up Brad, I want to see it.’ 

‘Yeah shut up Brad,’ Vincent chipped in. 

The girl grabbed Brad’s sleeve and dragged him over to the selected oak. 

‘Right come on then lets’ see what we have got,’ Remus said loudly over the top of their bickering as they had finally stopped just in front of the tree. 

Remus crouched down next to the quivering crate and put his ear to the side in an attempt to gage what was inside. Ignoring Brad’s calls to hurry up Remus listened. There was the maniacal laughter and occasional garbled language, it sounded human. Remus carefully pried the edge of the lid off and four tiny green hands wedged themselves out, clawing at the sides trying to get free. 

‘Ooooo! Leckere kinder,’ the creatures called. 

Remus sighed they were definitely erklings. 

‘What’s it sayin?’ Brad shouted. 

The erklings cackled more loudly and the two youngest boys started to run over as if drawn by a massive magnet. 

‘Ethelred grab them!’ Remus yelled. Ethelred rushed forward and pulled the boys back to the oak. The other children looked far more cautious now, their backs pressed into the tree behind them. 

‘We have a pair of erklings,’ Remus informed them but never taking his eyes off the crate. ‘They eat small mammals and, when they can, children.’ 

Remus glanced at the children whose eyes were wide with horror as they subconsciously held on to one another. Ethelred still had a firm grip on Vincent and the youngest boy. 

‘Their laugh is particularly enticing to young children, and they use it to lure them in as we have just seen. Normally they live in the Black Forest in Germany and it is illegal to trade them, but it looks like we will have to handle them now.’ 

‘Those things can’t stay here!’ the black haired girl shrieked as she clung tighter to the girl next to her. 

Remus sighed, ‘I’m afraid I don’t get to make that choice … but we should be able to come to some arrangement.’ 

Remus carefully pried open the lid a little more and two wicked looking sharp nosed faces poked their way out. 

‘Viele kinder!’ they cried delightedly. But before they could start laughing again Remus clamped his hands tightly over their mouths. 

‘Schau mich an erklings,’ Remus said clearly to them. They stared up at him angrily. 

‘Verrschwind,’ one of them mumbled from behind Remus’ hand. ‘Fuk orf.’ 

That wasn’t German, Remus thought, could they speak English too? Or was it just the swear words? 

‘You know what I am don’t you?’ Remus said, trying English out of a mix of curiosity and his German being rather rusty. 

‘woolff,’ the other erkling muffled, his following cackle muted by Remus hand. 

How talented Remus thought genuinely impressed. They must have met tourists or been in Britain for longer than he had thought, the latter wasn’t a cheering thought. 

‘And you know they are too don’t you?’ He pressed. The erklings beady black eyes looked round his shoulder at the children behind him their expressions becoming sour. 

‘And you know what they can do don’t you?’ 

Remus bared his teeth at them. He felt ridiculous but he had enough experience with dark creatures to know that it was an effective way of getting the message across. The erklings scowled back, but at least they were staying quiet now. 

Remus hurriedly thought through a plan. Right now he needed to explain to the children how to stay safe and then what? Just release the erklings? Although the erklings were smaller than average, really they were only children themselves by erkling standards, he did not like the idea of their roaming freely. But nor could they stay in the crate, they would become ill and that would undoubtedly anger Sköll and Hati. 

‘So what? We’re just supposed to bite them if they come near us?’ one of the girls called out to him sounding horrified. 

‘Oww! Prissy. You’re such a girl,’ Brad jibed. 

‘Fuck off Brad, or I’ll shove your head in that crate!’ The black haired girl shouted back. 

‘What? Why do you always have to get involved, Zita?’ Brad whined. 

Remus firmly shut the protesting erklings back in the crate before standing and calling out over the top of their squabbling. 

‘Right then. There are other creatures here I believe, why don’t you tell me about them?’ 

Vincent immediately started telling Remus everything he knew about the pixies, doxy nest and gytrashs. Where they were, when they came, how he found the gytrashs creepy and how his thumb had swollen up for weeks after being bitten by a doxy. 

‘Very observant Vin,’ Remus replied earnestly making Vincent beam with pride and Brad snort with disdain. 

Remus got the children to show him around. They pulled him about arguing over what was worth visiting. Brad declared the whole thing boring but trailed around with them anyway.

The Doxies were in a deep crack in the rockface where the steep mountain side met the woods. It was an unusually large colony if the amount of droppings outside were anything to go by. There was a mound of little black pellets covering up the ground before their nest emitting a pungent smell, while a couple of doxys were flying in and out of the entrance above. They would be fine to be left alone, but he really wanted to get some bite antidote just as a precaution. Doxies were common enough pests and the children mostly already knew about them but Remus told them a little more about the Queens and their lifecycles. As he did Remus noticed that one of the older boys was following his every word and peering at the crack for a closer look. Brad seemed to have noticed too, a look of superiority creeping across his face. 

‘You ain’t ever seen them have you Oscar?’ 

Oscars cheeks flushed and he stepped back a little from the group. 

‘Oscar’s a muggle. So’s Anne,’ Ethelred quietly informed Remus as if it was a dark secret. 

Remus tried to think of a way of helping Oscar settle again but he was distracted by the youngest boy, who he had learnt was called Whizzy, trying to stick his fingers into the doxy nest. Remus quickly scooped Whizzy up safely into his arms away from the stinking faeces and the poisonous doxys lazily buzzing above it, the boy promptly started squirming. 

‘You need to be careful around the doxy nest Whizzy, they will bite you if get too close,’ Remus explained. 

‘There’s no point talking to him.’ 

‘Why?’ Remus asked them a little taken aback. 

‘He can’t talk,’ Lucia told him airily. 

‘Oh,’ Remus looked at the boy in his arms, he was small but he must have been five years old. ‘Well if no one speaks to him how do you expect him to learn?’ 

They all stared dumbly back. Remus sighed, it was not after all, the children’s responsibility to bring him up. He looked back at Whizzy who had settled down now and was occupying himself with picking at a fraying hem of Remus’ jumper. The boy was filthy, his hair matted and dirt streaked, but his eyes were bright and happy. As he started wiggling again Remus set him back down making a mental note to get him properly cleaned. 

They started to walk back through some spindly birch trees to where the Erkling’s were still securely trapped in their crate. Remus was quizzing Ethelred on what the pack had or could get hold of that might help create an enclosure. It would mean having to feed them every day but it would be better than having them run around freely. 

As Ethelred finished telling Remus about the packs Storage Cave, Oscar asked him, ‘Have you met them before?’ 

‘No, I’ve never been to the Black Forest,’ Remus replied. 

‘Why? There’s loads of other werewolves there,’ Vincent asked eyes wide in amazement. 

Exactly, Remus thought to himself. He had purposely avoided contact with other werewolves for most of his life and the Black Forest had a particularly sour reputation. 

When they reached the clearing Remus double checked that the erklings were secure in their crate and began telling the children about gytrashs as Oscar looked at him curiously when he mentioned it. 

‘Gytrash’s are a type of Non-Human Spiritous Apparition,’ Remus explained cheerfully, regardless of the children’s perplexed expressions, ‘like poltergeists, boggarts, dementers -’ He could see dawning comprehension now. He loved that moment, he had always enjoyed that when teaching at Hogwarts.

‘I know about those! I learnt about them when I was at Hogwarts,’ Lucia said smugly her eyes brightening. Remus smiled back but he could see Zita behind her looking suddenly sulky. 

‘They’re nothing just ghost dogs,’ Brad declared dismissively. 

‘Of course they are no match for a transformed werewolf, but that is only once a month,’ Remus told them, ‘as you know they materialise at night and hunt in packs. It’s mostly small mammals they catch but they have been known to kill humans’ - Brad was looking more interested now - ‘there was a particularly violent pack that I helped to relocate once.’ 

Remus recalled his time handling the vicious Grunewald Forest pack and explained as clearly as he could about the gytrash’s hunting methods and their vulnerability to light. The children all seemed fascinated, or so he had thought. 

‘Brad will you just stop that!’ Ethelred shouted suddenly. The boy laughed, whilst the rest went quiet and looked round eagerly. Remus realised, too late, that Brad had been throwing acorns at him. 

‘What you gonna’ do Ethel?’ Brad sneered. 

‘It’s Ethelred,’ he replied tersely. 

‘ _Ethel, Etheell_!’ Brad repeated in a singsong voice. 

‘Brad why don’t you take the wheelbarrow back for me please?’ Remus asked calmly. 

‘What! No.’ Brad exclaimed, ‘you can’t make me do anythin’!’ 

‘I will,’ Vincent eagerly chipped in. 

Brad changed his mind in an instant and snatched it up. 

‘Haha!’ he called back to Vincent as he pushed the wheelbarrow off with an exaggerated strut. Remus glanced at Ethelred, he still looked angry and flustered. 

The evening was beginning to draw in and it would be safer to leave the woods as the gytrash’s would be materialising soon. Whizzy had rapidly run off, his thoughts focused on his dinner. The rest of them ambled back up to the campfire circle with Remus and Ethelred at the back, winding their way through the wooded path. 

Remus watched the children’s retreating backs as they ran off for dinner and went through their names in his head so that he could remember. Vincent, the stone collector. Lucia, the one who went to Hogwarts. Zita, the one who refused to be a push over. Oscar, the quiet one who liked the creatures. Whizzy, the little one who apparently couldn’t speak. And Brad, well … Remus struggled to think of something memorable other than his poor attitude. He sighed, they had only just met so surely something would come to light later. 

‘Quite something aren’t they?’ Ethelred said raising his eyebrows. 

‘Mmm … Well I don’t think anything else can really be expected. Being bitten, losing their families, and now living in an isolated, dirty cave,’ Remus listed off grimly. 

‘They’re certainly wild,’ Ethelred laughed showing Remus his hand which had little indents clearly marking out where someone must have bitten him. ‘Whizzy! He’s a right little bugger, like a barrel full of pixies. Runs havoc, steals everyone’s food.’ 

‘Ah.’ 

Remus wanted to do everything he could for them but what they really needed he could not provide. A proper home and a stable family. 

As they reached the main site Remus could see Anne amongst the other women by lines of drying washing, with his own clothes pegged up alongside. For once his old clothes did not stand out, they were just as tatty as everybody else’s. A couple of other women were still scrubbing at fabric by the lake whilst another woman, the middle aged one who had turned the alarm off in the morning, was busy cooking what looked like a thick stew. Remus smiled to himself, Tonks would be horrified if she was told that she had to cook and clean for a load of men. Her indignation would probably only be matched by Silas’ amazement that she would want to do anything else. As he amused himself with imagining the resulting altercation, Silas strode into view. 

‘What is that thing they have brought here then?’ Silas demanded, Jack coming up beside him to listen. 

‘Erklings; they’re not fully grown yet. They live on a diet of small mammals and children when they can,’ Remus paused to take in Silas’ reaction, which he was glad to see was one of outrage, his eyes darkening as he swelled with anger. 

‘Will the pups be safe?’ he demanded of Remus. 

‘It would be best to build an enclosure. Although even untransformed werewolf bites are dangerous, the erklings could still cause harm.’ 

Silas grunted his assent to the plan but he still looked vexed at having to accommodate them at all. 

* * *


	5. Cages and Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last fortnight seems to have gone by very quickly! Still, it's up on time, just about.

‘Come on. The Storage Cave is just by the wood pile.’ 

Remus, who had just got dressed, looked around still blurry eyed from a bad night’s sleep to the man standing before him. Remus shifted so that the light of the Gubraithian Fire clearly lit up the man’s features, and studied him carefully, he recognised the round shouldered dark skinned man as being called Rakesh. He nodded to Rakesh and sat on the edge of his bed to lace up his shoes. It was the morning after discovering that the crate picked up in Sheffield contained a young pair of erklings. Now the task was to build a secure enclosure for the creatures out of whatever they could find. 

Remus followed Rakesh through the narrow colourfully lit passageway that led out of the Sleeping Caves to the rocky overhang and into another wider cave opening. The Storage Cave was filled right to the top with an assortment of wizarding and muggle items. 

Remus was reminded of Mungdungus Fletchers’ horde of questionable artefacts, probably due to their being acquired through the same secretive and illegal networks. In amongst a mountain of rusty pots and cauldrons there was a sack of overly dried mandrake leaves and a neat pile of muggle sandbags. There were some ancient looking Cleansweeps lined up by the entrance that would have been declared useless by James back in the 80s let alone now. Perched on top of a stack of lorry pallets were a collection of bottles containing a mossy brown potion Remus couldn’t identify and a plastic tub of sodium bicarbonate. There were also several items used for muggle baiting, of the type that Arthur Weasley was in a constant battle to show were symptomatic of something far more sinister than just a laugh, such as shrinking keys and laundry powder that vanished a sock every time it was used. In between a pile of magical grip rope ladders and a crumbling portrait of a disgruntled looking Hesphaestus Gore - an old goblin and werewolf hating Minister which Remus could not help but feel a bitter satisfaction at seeing trapped here - were some items that could be used to make the enclosure. There was a large roll of repellent wire netting and a bag of heavy duty tent pegs that looked like they were designed to hold down marquees. 

Remus and Rakesh were struggling to disentangle the end of the repellent netting from a crooked TV aerial, which was made particularly difficult as the netting kept trying to repel their hands, when they heard someone coming into the cave. 

‘Hello? Are you in here Remus?’ 

Remus looked over his shoulder to see Ethelred. He had come to a stop and was stood by the cauldron pile, hovering as if unsure whether to come any closer or not. 

‘Hello Ethelred,’ Remus called out cheerfully. ‘Me and Rakesh were just trying to find some materials for making the erkling enclosure. Do you want to give us a hand?’ 

‘Oh, right … well, I can’t at the moment, not now,’ Ethelred said awkwardly before hurriedly making his way out of the cave before Remus could say anymore. 

Remus stared after him, his brow furrowed in thought. 

‘He is a funny bugger,’ Rakesh observed lightly with a laugh and a shake of his head. 

Over the next week Remus spent most of his time setting up a makeshift enclosure for the erklings. He was helped by Rakesh, who seemed to be the handyman of the pack, and often the children came too, with varying degrees of helpfulness. Once suitable ground had been found, they set about constructing a giant tent like structure out of the netting to be a safe enclosure for the creatures. They laboured with the netting whilst the erklings directed an impressive barrage of swear words - in German, English and a smattering of French - at them from within their crate. The children found this highly amusing and spent several hours trying to teach the erklings even more curses and foul language. 

Remus was crouched down in a pair of too small gardeners gloves - wearing gloves made handling the repellent netting somewhat easier - clumsily trying to hook the netting onto the peg that was wedged half way into the ground. The children were on the other side of the enclosure they had mapped out for the erklings, he had asked them to bring over the bag of pegs for him and Rakesh, but they seemed to be taking a suspiciously long time. As Remus began hammering the peg and netting down so that it resembled nothing more than a silver sickle on the ground he overheard Brad calling out eagerly. 

‘Go on, do it Vin!’ 

Remus looked up quickly and peered through the netting to see Vincent looking torn over whether he should do as Brad told him or not. 

‘Go on touch it,’ Brad coaxed. 

A second later Vincent was fired off into a nearby patch of bracken, having run full pelt at the repellent netting. All the children were laughing loudly. 

‘Go on do it again!’ Brad shouted gleefully. 

Remus got up to put an end to it, thinking sadly that if he had his wand he could have easily conjured up something soft for them to launch themselves into, he and his friends would have loved doing it when they were young. 

Just as Remus reached them Vincent went sailing past him, but this time he landed straight in the middle of a nettle bush. He started to cry. 

‘Don’t be such a cry baby,’ Brad called out to him. 

Remus carefully pushed the nettles aside and scooped a sobbing Vincent out. His hands and neck were turning red and little raised pale bumps were ballooning. 

‘It’ll be alright, it won’t hurt for long,’ Remus soothed, but Vincent shrugged him off as the other children laughed behind him. 

‘Waaa! Waa! Waaa!’ Brad mocked, perfectly indifferent to Remus’ warning look.

Remus stepped back, having to wave away the gawking children so that he could pluck a couple of nearby dock leaves. He held them out to Vincent. 

‘Take these, Vin,’ Remus said but all he got was another shrug and a doleful moan. 

‘You’re such a wimp! You scared of plants?’ Brad jeered.

‘Right, Vincent,’ Remus tried again, ignoring Brad and moving round this time so Vincent couldn’t avoid him, ‘here are some dock leaves, take them to Grandmother. She can make you a soothing potion.’ 

Vincent eyed the leaves suspiciously for a moment before taking them. Then he hurried back up to the caves, still sniffling as he went. 

Clearly finding Vincent’s misfortune hilarious the children made to follow him.

‘Could you take these spare tie wraps back to the storage cave.’ Remus said to waylay them from catching Vincent up. 

Lucia and Oscar quickly picked them up and still snickering they scurried off to join Zita who was already heading to the caves.

‘Brad come over here please,’ Remus said as Brad turned to leave with them. 

He didn’t come over but he did stop, slouching next to a birch tree. Remus walked over to him and lent casually against the neighbouring tree and looked at Brad. He was picking at the silver birch, peeling off the thin layers of white bark. 

‘I know you didn’t mean for Vincent to get hurt -’ 

‘I didn’t actually make him, he didn’t have too, it’s his own bloody fault,’ Brad shot back. Remus smiled, as he was suddenly reminded of a young Sirius, he always became combative at the first sign of a challenge. 

‘Vincent is younger than you Brad … you shouldn’t take advantage of that.’ Remus paused and looked at Brad, he was still staring at the bark that was now a soft pink colour where the top layers had been peeled off. 

‘Why did you make fun of Vincent after he was hurt?’ 

‘Because it was funny,’ Brad said as if pointing out the obvious.

‘Laughing at someone’s pain isn’t acceptable,’ Remus said carefully, while Brad went back to plucking at the bark. ‘Vincent isn’t a wimp … we’re all werewolves, we’re all well acquainted with pain.’

Brad muttered something indistinctly. 

‘What was that Brad?’ Remus asked cheerfully. 

Brad seemed to take his tone as an insult, ‘nah, fuck this!’ 

He was staring straight at Remus now, his eyes suddenly hard and angry, Remus stayed calmly leaning against the tree. Brad seemed to boil over at seeing this. 

‘You don’t belong here! You can’t tell me what to do!’ 

He turned and, still swearing loudly, he stormed back up to the caves, Remus watching sadly. 

* * *

Tea was, as normal, a watery tomato stew of a decidedly mediocre flavour, bulked out with whatever vegetables and meats they could get hold of. Remus had been surprised at first with how little meat they actually ate but he had since realised that vegetables were far easier to obtain than the meat they all hailed as proper werewolf food. 

They ate out of cracked crockery and old tupperware, slurping messily and some scooping out lumps with their fingers. Living with the pack had been peaceful so far and as he ate, he thought his most immediate concern was that he would be struck down by food poisoning. What a way to go, he thought ruefully, infiltrate a werewolf pack only to be killed by a contaminated carrot.

Remus’ thoughts soon turned more serious as he considered the implications of keeping dark creatures. He could control the creatures here but he suspected that other packs had similar arrangements and they may be less careful or knowledgeable. They were dangerous in themselves but they were also part of a far larger problem. They could be used for dark magic and, although he was no potioneer, Remus knew that they could be used in a range of harmful concoctions. The Order had known for some time that such items had been becoming far more accessible on the black market and as a result, readily available to Death Eaters. 

Moving food automatically to his mouth, Remus tried to commit as much as possible to memory so that he could relay it on to the Order, although he thought it would be a couple of weeks until he would be able to sneak off from the pack for a meeting. Pack numbers, the frequent casual mentions of Greyback’s name, the way they gave Silas space as he ate his extra meat portions, and the way they always listened when Grandmother spoke; all of it carefully noted. 

Remus was just beginning on a tub full of berries, the last of the season that the pack would be able to forage for, when a wheezing sound caught his attention. 

He turned round and saw Anne and Latasha carefully helping Grandmother down to the campfire circle where they all ate. She looked ill, her face drawn and tired with red blotches in her cheeks from the effort of walking. 

‘How you holding up Gran?’ Brad called out to her. 

‘Well enough lad,’ Grandmother puffed, leaning heavily on Anne and Latasha. ‘Wouldn’t get me my chair would you?’ 

Somewhat to Remus’ surprise Brad immediately did as he was asked and brought over the deckchair Grandmother sat in every mealtime. As he was watching Grandmother slowly lower herself into the chair Remus felt something move by his lap. He looked down to see Whizzy cramming a handful of berries into his mouth. 

‘Have you been stealing my berries, Whizzy?’ Remus asked quietly. 

The little boy shook his head, looking imploringly up at Remus, an incriminating purplish smudge all around his mouth and hands. Remus gently held Whizzy’s hands out and turned them palm face up revealing the sticky marks of the berries, ‘I think you’ve been found out Whizzy’, he smiled. 

Whizzy smiled back at him rocking back and forth, he looked adorable. 

‘let’s get you cleaned up.’ 

The boy’s smile disappeared in an instant, he scowled and shook his head. 

‘Come on best get it over with,’ Remus said cheerfully scooping up the now loudly protesting Whizzy. 

Remus started to clean him up, and as he did so, he came to understand why Whizzy was so dirty. The boy hated being cleaned; he hated the water, he hated the scrubbing, and, he hated having to stay still. 

‘The more you squirm the longer it will take,’ Remus said firmly to Whizzy who kept twisting away from the cloth Remus was using to clean him with. Eventually Whizzy was clean, or at least, cleaner than he had been, and he scurried off to hide behind Grandmother. 

She chuckled at his antics. 

‘You been scrubbed up have you?’ she asked the sulky Whizzy. ‘Well you might not have liked it but you’re a sight better for my old eyes now.’ 

* * *

It was coming to the end of October, the erklings had been rehomed and Remus’ first transformation at the Black Mountains had arrived. Being designed as a magical creature reserve meant that humans would be safe. Remus had checked the magical boundaries of the reserve and had reassured himself that they were safe, taking an all day hike to do a round trip of the parameters. They were a good ten miles away from any settlements or houses and his research before embarking on his mission told him that there had not been any werewolf sightings, let alone bites, in this area for well over the last decade. Finally he had a thorough talk with Ethelred, who was a skilled wizard, and had his assurance that the boundary was sound. 

The men had headed out to the edge of the woods, leaving the women up near the Glass Lake, before stripping. Now he was crouched in the cold October air with his arms wrapped around himself, distinctly aware of how his body betrayed his life story. The transformation at Sheffield had been in the semi-dark and he had not needed to worry about being seen. 

He looked down at his much abused skin. There was the permanent scarring Greyback had inflicted on his thigh, now oddly stretched from where he had grown, and a couple of duelling scars left over from the First War as well as some other souvenirs he had gained on his travels. Alongside these was his scarring caused by his confined transformations; chewed forearms and scratched sides. Although they were not lasting scars as they slowly faded away over a couple of months forming ever changing patterns of pink and white lines, they marked him out from the others. 

Vincent was staring at him. It made Remus uncomfortable. He tried to avoid the boys gaze in the hope that the inevitable question could be avoided. Of course it could not be and Vincent queried, ‘why have you got so many scars?’ 

‘He’s one of those that lock themselves up and bite themselves like Greyback says. Fuckin’ unnatural,’ Brad answered loudly. 

‘Oh,’ Vincent observed him curiously, ‘you aint locked up now.’ 

‘No I’m not,’ Remus said mildly before adding with a smile, ‘don’t you think I’ve got enough scars?’ 

Vincent squinted at him. ‘Yeah. You look like a bit of dried up clay, with all the little cracks all over.’ 

‘Thank you, Vincent,’ Remus said somewhat less mildly. 

His head had started to pound. It was close. He looked into the dark woods, he could see the silvery gytrashs darting between the trees but they kept their distance. As if they knew what monsters were about to appear. His gaze was drawn up, up above the treetops. Following a compulsive, overwhelming urge to look. There it was … 

Skin felt scorched as fur sprouted, forcing its way to the surface. Muscles spasmed as they were stretched and squeezed into their wolfish shape. A frantic rushing in his ears and a disorientating pang of pain pierced through his head. He was coiled up tight on the cold earth with ragged gasps for air. 

Once again, he was not alone, he was in a pack. A large pack, that moved as one, following their leader. The night air was crisp and enlivening. The moon seemed to reach down to him, so large and entrancing. He called to it, and heard the rest of the pack do the same. Agile and powerful the muscles in his legs easily carried him as they roved through the woods on the trail of prey. His paws pounding over knotted tree roots and sodden leaves. 

Taking deep breaths with ears pricked up listening, eyes scouring the undergrowth. There had to be prey, he needed to eat, there had to be prey. There. A twitching between the trees, the intoxicating scent was fresh and close. Remus’ stomach twisted and growled with need. He edged forward, eyes trained on the oblivious little creature. He sniffed again. It wasn’t quite right, it wasn’t what he craved, what he needed. That useless little creature was nothing compared to the prey he sought. He howled in frustration, sending the woods inhabitants fleeing from him, they were nothing to his hunger. He ran and ran, all night searching, his hunger driving him on. But there was nothing for him. 

* * *


	6. Dog Fighting

It had been a couple of weeks since Remus had arrived at the Black Mountains and he had got used to the rhythms of pack life. Every morning he was rudely awoken by the alarm clock and then he would spend the rest of the day labouring. They collected and prepared wood, foraged for mushrooms and laid traps for pigeon, the majority of which were eaten by Silas who seemed to allow himself a bigger meat ration than everyone else. 

Remus also ensured that the erklings were fed and that the children were entertained, as they tended to fight less when busy. Many of the werewolves also left the pack returning with goods they had stolen from the neighbouring muggle farms and villages. This was largely to ensure a constant alcohol supply but also for food and whatever other stuff they could get their hands on, adding to the mostly useless horde in the Storage Cave. Remus had not been entrusted with this thievery until the day before Halloween when Silas instructed Jack to take a group along to Ian Morgan’s Farm, and Jack had, for some unknown reason, decided to take Remus along too. 

Remus had been consumed with a gnawing sense of guilt and fear ever since he had found out what they were going to do. He had never stolen anything in his life. Now he was expected to steal the sheep that was destined to be the highlight of the Halloween Feast. Or at least it would be if they could successfully get one. It was becoming increasingly difficult for the pack as they had raided Morgan’s farm so often that he was now in a constant battle to protect his property and produce. 

The expedition was being headed by Jack, whilst Silas was directing the construction of the bonfire. Remus joined two sharp looking men named Anatol and Floyd, and, worryingly, Scabior and Ethelred. Neither of which did Remus think were well suited to committing a stealthy crime. 

It was late afternoon, and it was not going well, they had just encountered Morgan’s latest security measure, an enormous angry looking dog. 

‘When did he get that thing?’ Scabior cried angrily as if scandalised by Morgan’s attempts to protect his livestock. ‘Where’s Old Sue gone?’- Old Sue was the ancient collie dog at Morgan’s farm, a trusty sheepdog but Morgan had clearly decided that a more robust dog capable of tackling intruders was needed. 

‘Go on Ethel you go first,’ Scabior said as he shoved Ethelred out of the shelter of the hedgerow. 

Ethelred stumbled forward. Remus could see him instinctively reaching for his wand, but of course, it wasn’t there. The huge dog crouched before him, emitting a low warning growl. 

‘Distract it!’ Jack hissed desperately, clearly thinking that Ethelred was not the best man for this job. But it was too late to change, the dog was watching his every move, its narrowed eyes fixed on the quivering man. 

‘Here doggie,’ Ethelred said in a falsely cheery voice that trembled. He picked up a stick and wafted it in front of the dogs face. ‘Do you want to play fetch?’ 

The dog’s growls grew deeper, clearly in no mood to play. The rest of them watched with baited breath from the safety of the trees. 

Ethelred edged another step closer the stick waving perilously close to the dog’s muzzle.

‘Here dog- Argh!’ Ethelred screamed as the dog bounded forward clenching its teeth around the stick, breaking it in two. 

‘Don’t kick it you idiot,’ Floyd groaned as Ethelred flailed wildly to get away from the angry dog. Anatol and Jared laughed loudly. Ethelred sprinted off, with the dog following just behind, and scrambled up a nearby tree with an athleticism Remus was sure he wouldn’t have manged in any other circumstance. The dog reared up onto its back paws and started scratching and barking furiously. 

‘Well he did distract it,’ Floyd observed. 

‘Let’s just hope Morgan hasn’t heard anything,’ Jack replied coldly. ‘Now come on.’ 

They all darted out from the trees towards the timid looking sheep huddled in a corner of the field. They fanned out to block any escape routes, but as they edged forward slowly, there was an angry barking and the growling dog appeared before them. Its hackles raised and lip curling back to reveal its sharp teeth, standing defensively in front of the sheep. They rapidly backed off, the dog watching them mistrustfully. 

‘What did you let it get away for?’ Scabior snapped at Ethelred. 

They were close to Ian Morgan’s tidy looking farm buildings now, Remus could see Jack glancing at them warily. Floyd pulled out of his rucksack a magical Hold Fast Rope Ladder and adeptly threw it so that they could scramble up onto a barn roof where the dog couldn’t sneak up on them while they planned. They all slumped onto the cold tin roof to catch their breath, while the dog’s barks echoed below. The sheep had now huddled just outside one of the out buildings and were far closer to the farmhouse than they would have liked. 

‘We could just kill it off?’ Anatol muttered darkly looking down at the furious dog. 

‘No,’ Jack said, ‘then Morgan would know the ewe was stolen not just lost.’ 

‘Well, we could just kill a sheep then?’ Scabior said offhandedly, he didn't have the patience for planning.

‘And then what? Lug it all the way back without being mauled?’ 

Floyd rolled his eyes and Anatol snickered. 

‘A sleeping potion would be easiest,’ Remus pointed out. 

‘Yeah, it would,’ Floyd nodded, ‘I told you we should have prepared -’ 

‘Well we haven’t,’ Jack snapped. 

They all fell silent again. 

‘Isn’t there that old shed with an outside crossbar lock?’ Floyd said thoughtfully. 

Jack nodded, ‘we need something to lure the dog in-’ 

‘Ethel?’ Anatol suggested wryly. 

‘Floyd and Remus will do it,’ Jack said decisively, ‘Anatol keep watch on the farmhouse - use the usual signal, me and Jared will catch the sheep. And, Ethelred, just do as I say,’ he added sharply. 

With the angry dog now scuffling around the side of the building, presumably trying to find a way up, they quickly made their descent from the rooftop. Floyd pulled out a metal chain from his rucksack and Remus grabbed a pig board from by the outhouse. Remus could see Anatol dart off round the side of the farmhouse as Jack and Scabior ran down towards a barn near the sheep, Ethelred following behind in an awkward duck footed run. 

Chain in hand Floyd edged round towards the sound of the dogs snarling and scratching, Remus following just behind. 

‘Right I’m going to get his attention and lead him to the barn, you stay on that side so he can’t get to the farmhouse,’ Floyd said and Remus nodded. 

Floyd stepped out and called to the dog, ‘come on boy, this way.’ 

It whipped round, ears pricked up and its top lip curling up to reveal its sharp teeth. Floyd lashed the chain out, striking the ground by the dogs’ feet making it jump and whimper. Looking even angrier it stared at Floyd as he backed up towards the barn, before deciding to chase after him. It speeded forward half the way but then suddenly stopped before it reached him and looked round suspiciously at Remus, then back to Floyd, then to Remus again. Floyd whistled to the dog to come closer but clearly deciding that this was a ploy it bounded towards Remus instead. The dog flung its considerable weight against the board, making Remus slide in the mud, fighting to stay steady. Remus dug his heels into the ground while he was stuck in some kind of wrestling match with the dog Floyd ran up and looped the chain around its neck and started to pull it off towards the barn. 

‘Come on, that’s it, let him be boy,’ Floyd commanded but to no avail. 

Floyd shoved the dog though the opening and Remus flung the door shut. 

‘That should do it,’ panted Floyd. 

Remus could just hear Jack, Jared and Ethelred bickering over the dogs muffled barks from behind the door. 

‘Oh for Merlin's sake Ethelred will you just get on with it.’ 

‘What you doing? Not like that.’ 

‘What the fuck? Orbsucker!’ 

‘Shut up Scabior! We don’t have time for this. Ethelred just hold that will you.’ 

Jamming his back into the wooden door, while Floyd finished bolting it Remus glanced round and saw Ethelred fumbling with a rope around the ewe’s neck that Jack and Jared were holding still. Somehow the rope was also wound round his leg and he floundered between tying the sheep up and setting himself free. Remus watched in a mix of exasperation and pity, Ethelred was an intelligent wizard but he didn’t possess an ounce of common sense. 

_CLAP!_

It was an astoundingly loud but impossible to place. That was magic, Remus was sure of it. They all froze and Remus followed everyone else’s gaze to the farmhouse where Anatol was hidden. He was waving and pointing to the path, where a man was marching along towards the front of the house. 

‘Shit! It’s Morgan,’ Floyd hissed, Remus realised that it must have been Anatol’s signal. He was surprised by the wandless magic, but then he reflected, they were wizards and wands were not the source of magic. 

They all gathered round Anatol by the side of the farmhouse, Scabior pulling along the sheep and the still attached Ethelred, prompting a round of laughter. Feeling sorry for him, Remus ducked down and freed Ethelred. 

‘Quiet the lot of you,’ Jack said sharply. 

As the laughter died down Remus could hear shouting coming from the garden. 

‘You’ve been stealing my veg again!’ 

‘Why in god’s name would I want to steal your poxy veg?’ 

They could see Old Sue sat placidly by Morgan’s feet as the two farmers shouted at each other, both red in the face. 

‘Don’t you go denying it, I’ll have you for it this time. All my best pumpkins are gone.’ 

Remus’ insides squirmed, tomorrow night he would be eating those pumpkins at the feast. 

‘How are we going to get round?’ Anatol asked Jack who was clearly doing some quick thinking; they would be seen running across the open field. 

The farmers spat continued, and by the sound of it would continue for some time. 

‘- vandalising my property-’ 

‘You’re property is such a mess how could you even notice!’ 

‘How dare you! It’s the work of generations.’ 

Jack started whispering his plan, ‘go round the back and -’ 

An alarming cracking sound interrupted him, followed by terrified barking. They all turned to see the dog charging out of its trap back to its master. 

‘You can’t keep animals like that!’ Griffith’s roared as it charged past him, knocking him into a flower pot. 

‘You’re the one that brandishes your shotgun at anyone who sneezes!’ Morgan shouted angrily whilst trying to calm his frantic dog. 

Seeing the chaos Jack laughed at their good fortune. While the farmers were distracted they quickly made their escape; Floyd urging the ewe to move faster and Anatol pushing Ethelred along. As they disappeared into a hedgerow Remus could just see Old Sue padding out of the way of the commotion clearly enjoying her retirement. 

* * *

After presenting the ewe to Silas, Scabior took a clear, and somewhat disturbing, pride in slaughtering it so that Floyd could prepare it for tomorrows feast. But that was as much as the men had to do with the cooking and they spent the rest of the evening drinking and bare knuckle boxing. Remus knew that it was a favourite amusement for them but it was the first time he had seen it. 

They seemed to be rather loose with the rules, punching wherever they liked and shouting whatever insults and taunts they could think of. The air was full of a heady smell of sweat and alcohol fuelling their adrenaline. Charley and Anatol were at the centre of the ring now. They had bloodshot eyes, and were snorting like animals, with reddened knuckles and fixed stares. There was a sickening crack as a punch found its target sending Charley sprawling. The crowd howled with satisfaction and Blind Bill massaged Charley’s shoulders as he whispered encouragement and advice to him, but the fight was soon over. Sending wild cries into the night they began to look for the next match. Remus was jostled around in the crowd, like flotsam in a turbulent river. There was a confused mass of voices but one name soon rose above the others. 

‘Come on! Why not Ethel?’ 

‘You’re such a girl _Ethel_ red!’ 

‘I’M NOT A GIRL!’ Ethelred screamed his face blotchy with rage. ‘I’ve got kids!’ He blustered, waving his arms about absurdly. 

There was a round of laughter and cat calling. Remus insides twisted uncomfortably as the crowd united in derision. They were pressed together, bearing down on their victim.

‘Ooo! Touchy.’ 

‘Is it your time of the month love?’ 

‘Aw come here darling.’ 

‘Get off me!’ Ethelred flailed. 

Ethelred was pushed to the floor but before things could get worse someone else distracted them with an offer to fight. 

‘I will! I want a go!’ Brad cried, pushing his way forward into the ring of men. They looked down at him, forgetting Ethelred in the dirt, they started laughing at young Brad. 

‘You!’ 

‘Little runt!’ 

‘Isn’t it past your bed time?’ 

Jack grabbed the scruff of Brad’s top and shoved him out of the circle, and directed him to go back to the Sleeping Caves. Remus could just see him moodily slumping off from behind the wall of men. 

‘You will though won’t you Remus!’ Toothless Tony called out, clapping Remus’ shoulder and pushing him forward. 

Remus froze. Merlin, he felt so vulnerable without his wand. The press of people shifted as it moved to centre on him.

‘Come on!’ 

‘We’ll go easy on you. You won’t have to fight Floyd.’ 

‘We don’t actually want to kill you.’ 

‘Hairy-Heart will fight him, won’t you?’ Jack said in his decisive voice. 

The crowd was forming around them, chanting and heckling, eyes locked on the spectacle before them. Hairy-Heart was prepping, in an elaborate routine of slapping and shaking his arm and leg muscles. 

‘Go on Hairy-Heart!’ 

‘Hairy-Heart… Hairy-Heart …’ 

‘You too tame Remus?’ 

Remus took a steadying breath. He was just going to have to go for it, after all he did not want to end up like Ethelred, who had rapidly slunk off out of sight. He had done muggle duelling before, Sirius had wanted to learn and it had proved useful in later years, but he was definitely not going to win against Hairy-Heart. 

As Remus and Hairy-Heart came face to face he found himself thinking, somewhat distractedly, that Hairy-Heart was indeed very hairy. He wasn’t wearing a top but he hardly looked like he needed one as his hair formed a fuzzy coat over his broad chest and bulging arms. Remus could only hope he wasn’t as cruel as the Beedle fairy tale character he was nick named after. 

Hairy-Heart threw the first punch, Remus lurched instinctively out of the way, and Hairy-Heart’s fist just caught Remus’ arm. Remus snapped into fight mode, a feeling of calm washing over him, as they circled round one another. 

He weighed Hairy-Heart up in his mind, he was a heavy set, lumbering man; his punches would be hard but slow. Remus was lighter on his feet, and if not practiced at throwing punches he was very well practiced at dodging spells, so he would be able to evade the worst of the damage. But you could not win a fight by just being good at defence, it would only prolong it. This was going to hurt, Remus concluded. 

His jaw set in concentration as they spiralled round and round. Hairy-Heart took the offensive, while Remus did all he could to avoid him. He was leaping and dodging, his dexterity clearly aggravating his opponent, as if he were an irksome fly he couldn’t quite swat. But inevitably a punch found its target, making Remus stumble. Hairy-Hearts blows pounded down on him. He felt light-headed as all his blood seemed to be throbbing where he had just been hit in the side. He managed to straighten up and he faced Hairy-Heart, his face was puffed red, his eyes hard and glinting. The crowd were shouting but Remus paid no attention to them. As he swung his fist again, Remus nimbly ducked aside and Hairy-Heart was sent stumbling by his own force, giving Remus the chance to make an offensive of his own. He aimed for his vulnerable spots, hitting him in the neck and under his ribs making Hairy-Heart grunt in pain. 

‘He’s fuckin’ hard!’ 

‘You paying attention Ethelred!’ 

Hairy-Hearts surprise quickly wore off, and he deflected Remus’ attempts, looking even redder and fiercer than before. Remus was knocked backwards into the crowd, stars popping in his eyes, as something hot trickled down his chin. Everything was a blur, he could feel himself slumping over. 

‘That will do!’ Remus heard Jack call out, finally stopping the fight now that Remus was suitably defeated. ‘Not bad for a tame wolf.’ 

Remus was finally allowed to stagger back to the caves and collapse into his bed where he curled up painfully into a ball and found his first aid kit. As he took a swig of pain relief and dabbed Dittany Essence onto his cuts, he stared at the colourful crystal on the cave wall, and found himself longing for a friendly face. He lay there in pain, listening to the men’s drunken shouts and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and dreamt of her smile. 

* * *


	7. The Halloween Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time for Halloween, enjoy :)

The Halloween Feast was taking place that night and Remus was out collecting up the last bundles of firewood. The pack’s festive plans were an ad-hoc mix of Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night, blending it into a celebration that suited them. There would be a feast, like the tradition set by Hogwarts at Halloween, but there would also be a bonfire like muggles had on Guy Fawkes Night. 

He sighed with relief as Scabior’s string of curses and insults could no longer reach him out in the woods. Remus was still sore from the fight but that did not trouble him. Far more wearing was the pack’s constant squabbling and jeering, it was non-stop crude jokes and nonsensical insults, existing always on the edge between humorous banter and real anger. He found himself longing for more sophisticated conversation. As he started searching carelessly for firewood he accidently cut himself on some brambles. He swore loudly and sucked the bead of blood off his finger. Maybe they were rubbing off on him, he thought irritably. 

As he returned he saw Anne and Latasha busy feeding fresh logs into the steadily burning cooking fires, Anne’s long brown hair had gone limp with the heat and Latasha kept mopping her brow, her black skin glistening with sweat. They and the rest of the women were cooking a Halloween feast. The ewe that had been stolen yesterday was slowly spit roasting. Remus could also see them preparing the haul of pumpkins which had been acquired from Farmer Griffiths’s fields earlier. There was a massive iron pot full of bubbling orange soup suspended over hot embers. Slippery, fleshy pieces of pumpkin were being sliced, and mountains of ovoid seeds were waiting to be grilled. 

The children were playing a boisterous game that appeared to entail moving the cooking knives around whenever one of women’s backs was turned. Distracted by Oscar and Vincent, Brad was able to sneak past the women and snatch a gleaming silver knife from a partially sliced pumpkin. They yelled at Brad as he ran away cackling. 

‘For fuck sake! Creepin’ goblin.’ 

‘Give it back ‘ere! Or you won’t be getting’ any food.’ 

‘Bloody pups!’ 

As one of the women advanced on him he threw the knife onto the ground near Zita who quickly grabbed it and ran off, laughing loudly. 

Remus hastily stored his newly collected firewood and rounded up the children, then, as there were a few spare pumpkins, spent an enjoyable few hours with the children helping them to carve spooky faces. All together Remus thought it was a successful diversion, only two cut fingers and just the one tantrum. Brad’s pumpkin, the biggest one he could find, was eating a smaller one. Lucia and Zita had made there’s as lopsided and ugly as possible whilst Oscar’s was violently vomiting. Vincent had spent most of his time selecting the most perfectly proportioned pumpkin and Whizzy was happily covered head to foot in the stringy slimy innards. 

By the time Remus had cleaned Whizzy up the cooking was nearly done and the sun was low in the sky along with the little heat it had provided in the day. A group began to gather around the unlit campfire, everyone finding logs and old blankets to sit on. They bundled up in hats, cloaks and scarves getting ready for the night. Remus tucked himself up in his overcoat, and tried not to think about the coldness of the coming winter. He had brought a selection of clothes with him but it was suddenly feeling like it was not going to be enough. 

Silas stood in front of the bonfire circle where the wood was piled high ready to be lighted, nestled in the middle Remus could see an effigy in a bowler hat. The whole pack was soon settled - except Hairy-Heart who had been called up to Sheffield along with a crate full of doxy venom and Ethelred who been avoiding them all as much as possible after last night – all clearly looking forward to getting the bonfire started. They looked to Silas expectantly. 

‘Welcome!’ He roared his arms spread wide, ‘thanks to our women for our feast,’ he gestured to the heaps of food being kept warm on the remnants of the cooking fires, then he turned to the effigy before smiling at them all, ‘and thank you lads for making us our Guy.’ 

There was a loud mix of cheers for the makers and jeers at the effigy. Remus looked at it more closely. The lime green bowler hat looked just like the one Cornelius Fudge sported. The figure was also wearing robes emblazoned with the Magical Law Enforcers symbol, and, the finishing touch, a twig representing a wand poking out of one sleeve. 

‘It will be good to see the Man burn! Crystal, do the honours.’ Silas cried out to them all, it was hardly an original speech but they cheered all the same, or perhaps they were just grateful for its being short. 

All eyes turned to Crystal who was sat hunched over a tree stump, but she didn’t seem to notice them, her focus was locked on her hands. They were balanced on the wood before her, both clasped around a single stick. She stared at the very tip of the twig, her eyes boring down onto that single spot as her lips began to twitch as she muttered a charm, again and again. 

Remus looked on, as captivated as the rest, it was always breath taking to see magic done this way. It was raw, this old magic, impractical and difficult of course which was why he had not seen any of them do it before. But this was a special night, All Hallows’ Eve, what better night was there for a show of witchcraft? 

Right at the very tip, a glowing red ember emerged. She kept going, bent almost double now as her eyes inched closer and closer to that spot. Almost imperceptibly the glowing tip grew, brighter and bolder, until it transformed into a small stuttering flame. Her head dropped to her forearms, in satisfaction or exhaustion, Remus could not tell. Either way unable to restrain themselves any longer the crowd burst out in whistles of appreciation. 

Silas strode forward and plunked the lightened stick from her loose grasp, the flame faltering precariously as it was moved. He raised it high above his head to show the demanding crowd, then, with a calculated movement, he buried it into the heart of the waiting wood. There was the briefest of pauses as everyone seemed to hold their breath and watch; the kindling went up, spreading to the heftier branches and logs. There was a chorus of wolf whistles as the flames took hold, licking at the feet of the Ministry effigy. 

‘The feast!’ Jack called out to a round of cheers and thumping as he led the way over to the mutton and started carving. 

The spit-roasted mutton was mouth-watering, the meat was lightly cooked so that it still oozed blood, and all the werewolves relished it. They were hungrily tearing at it with their hands and swallowing great chunks of meat. Toothless Tony was determinedly gnawing at a joint of meat in the side of his mouth, whilst dribble drooped out of the other side, but he seemed too intent on his meal to notice. Remus was sat next to Blind Bill who was squinting at his dinner trying to locate any bones so he didn’t choke. 

The meat didn’t last long and the rest of the feast was presented. It consisted of seemingly every way of preparing pumpkin, but Remus didn’t mind. The soup was warm and creamy and the seeds had been roasted in cinnamon before being drizzled with a sticky, sweet coat of honey. The children were giggling uncontrollably as they tried to wipe their grubby hands on each other’s faces. It was far better than their usual meals and after eating Remus settled himself down comfortably. 

Lazily cleaning his hands with some grass, he felt so warm and full it was hard to believe that there was a war happening at all. That Voldemort and his followers were committing atrocities or that the Ministry was under so much strain, not that the pack would care about that, Remus reflected, as he watched the remnants of the effigy crumpling. The rest of the pack never mentioned any of it, at least, not near Remus. 

The bonfire was blazing, hungrily reaching into the night sky and driving smoke off over the Glass Lake, it would take all night to burn down and the pack looked set to spend all night partying. 

Charley suddenly squatted down between Remus and Blind Bill, ‘‘ere, Bill I got you another pair of glasses. Go on see if they work.’ 

Charley then turned to Remus, ‘look what else I got’ - he told him as he emptied out torches and bottles of Doxy antidote that had been concealed inside his puffy coat - ‘I went out yesterday to Caerphilly especially, see.’ 

‘Still nothing Charley,’ Bill said shaking his head and pulling off the thick rimmed glasses. 

‘Well you won’t see Bill it’s night time.’ 

Bill laughed, ‘these glasses are bloody useless! It’s worse with ‘em on.’ 

‘Ah, shit, sorry mate. Next time eh?’ 

‘So that’s what took you so long!’ Scabior called out to Charley, ‘we had to take fuckin Ethelred to Morgan’s farm, he made a right tit of himself!’ 

_‘Ethelred?_ ’ Charley laughed. 

‘He was pissing off Silas, lurking around the caves, so he sent him off with us,’ said Jack irritably. 

‘Where is he anyway?’ Tony asked between mouthfuls. 

‘Hopefully he’s been eaten by the troll,’ Charley joked. 

They all laughed and Scabior started animatedly retelling what had happened; Remus was very glad that Ethelred wasn’t there to see it. 

Zita was making her way over to get some more food, as she passed Anatol, he lunged towards her, trying to grasp her legs. ‘Wouldn’t mind some of that,’ he growled.

She jerked away from him, ‘FUCK OFF ANATOL!’ 

Remus jolted too, a mirror of her disgust and anger. Anatol was eyeing her up in the same way he had been looking at his dinner. It was disgusting. 

‘Let her alone, you sleazy selkie,’ Rakesh called out, as Zita stomped off to the other side of the fire. ‘Silas will flay you’re arse if he sees you.’

‘Hypocrite! I saw you getting off with that tart when we were in Sheffield,’ Anatol retorted, ignoring Rakesh’s last comment. 

‘Yeah well, she was an adult.’ Rakesh muttered uncomfortably, turning back to his food.

‘Just shut the fuck up, Anatol,’ Jack said, the others made noises of agreement. 

‘Zita ain’t that young. I mean she’s definitely fully grown. And all the others are shit ugly.’ Anatol protested.

‘What do you want to fuck a werewolf for? They’ve all got bloody scars,’ Scabior exclaimed. 

Remus lost track of who was speaking as they all clamoured over each other. 

‘What you on about. You’re a werewolf too you twat.’

‘Yeah exactly. I don’t want some girl with scars.’ 

‘I like my scars. They make me look hard.’ 

‘Yeah but not on girls!’ 

‘Just look at Crystal. She’s covered in scars and men used to pay to fuck her.’ 

‘But they weren’t other werewolves were they? They were just weird wizards with kinky fetishes -’ 

The debate over the sexiness of scars continued as Remus removed himself to the far side of the campfire, watching as Crystal angrily waded into the argument too. Although it was not much quieter on this side either as Charley was now performing a farcical impression of Cornelius Fudge spinning his bowler hat in front of a group of women who were laughing uproariously. Zita and Lucia, who had sandwiched themselves between Anne and Latasha with a mountain of food, were sniggering too. Vincent and Brad were trying to do the pack’s warning clap but were just clapping normally instead much to Oscar’s entertainment. Grandmother had just gathered Whizzy up onto her lap to stop him from stealing people’s food when Silas called for quiet. The pack fell silent and they all looked to Grandmother excitedly. 

‘The tale of the first werewolf,’ she told them. 

There was a round of appreciative cheers then they settled back down to listen, looking surprisingly like eager young children at story time. 

‘There was once a warlock named Witiza. He was very clever and powerful but he was also commanding and foul tempered. He wanted to see everything, know everything, and control everything. For he was secretly afraid of the secrets of nature. His young niece who lived with him, Florinda was her name, was completely different to her uncle. For she loved nature’s mysteries and she would go on long walks through the woods to marvel at its’ beauty …’

‘Florinda’s own parents had died when she was a small child so her uncle had taken her in, he fed her and kept her warm. In return Florinda had to see to Witiza’s house and do all the cooking and the cleaning, while he studied. But she had an hour every morning in which she was free to walk into the woods. It was on one of these walks that she came across a wounded wolf cub. All day she tended to the young cub and restored it to health so that it was healthy enough to find its way back to its mother. But when Witiza found out that she had spent the whole day nursing a wolf cub he was furious. For she should have been at home tending to him so that he could spend every hour with his books and experiments …’

‘As payment for her disobedience he commanded her to trap and kill a unicorn for him. Florinda was horrified but she was so ashamed of neglecting her uncle, who had brought her up and looked after her, that she agreed. So that evening she went back into the woods to do his bidding. The woods were dark now as the sun was setting but she knew the woods well. She did not have to search for long as the unicorn trusted Florinda having seen her so diligently tend to the cub. Because of this, when she approached, they went willing to her and let themselves be tethered to a nearby tree. Florinda took out her dagger and she made to cut into the unicorns side, but she was so struck by the beauty and purity of the unicorn that she could not go on. She broke into tears and refused to carry out her uncles’ wish, Florinda apologised to the unicorn and she set it free …’

‘But Witiza had seen the whole thing and he was sent into a terrible temper at seeing the unicorn go free. He came over to her and drawing his wand he threatened to kill Florinda for disobeying him. She cried out to him that he was wrong and that he could never understand the secrets of nature by seeking to control it. But Witiza laughed at her saying that she had no knowledge that could compare to his years of studying. Then he raised his wand to deal the deadly curse but out of the trees jumped a wolf, the mother of the cub Florinda had tended to. The mother wolf bit Florinda as the full moon was rising and she transformed into a werewolf. In her wolf form Florinda could defend herself against Witiza, she broke his crown and snapped his wand, freeing the world from his arrogance and his control …’

‘For the rest of her days Florinda tended to nature, although her transformations were very painful, it was a reminder of her cruel deception of the unicorn. But Florinda’s monthly transformations also blessed her, for they brought her far closer to an understanding of this world than Witiza could ever have known.’ 

For a moment they all sat there quietly, then there was a tumultuous applause, their hollering and whistling echoing from their rocky nook by the mountains out across the lake. 

As they quietened again, Vincent asked, ‘is that why we can’t catch unicorns?’ 

Grandmother nodded, ‘that’s it. Unicorns are pure and innocent, so they are not werewolves prey.’ 

The children were sent, reluctantly, to bed by Grandmother. Their eyes red and drooping they protested that they weren’t tired but Grandmother soon scolded them into order, before instructing Anne and Latasha to usher them to the cave. Remus stayed out, sitting close to the warmth of the still steadily burning bonfire, his mind mulling over Grandmother’s story. 

The rest of the pack had hunkered down, bickering over the booze and passing around a pipe. Thick white smoke curled out of the end and when they breathed it in they were left looking glassy eyed. They were apparently untroubled by concerns that the story helped cultivate violence and a dichotomy between werewolves and wizards as Remus was. He sighed and rubbed his temples, the smoke was making it difficult to think. How dangerous could a story be? 

* * *


	8. Missed Communication

Remus was crouched down behind the large buzzing generator that powered the string of lights in the entry tunnel to the Sleeping Caves. He had been exploring the caves when several of the men gathered nearby, unaware of his presence and talking among themselves. Not wanting to waste the opportunity to hear them talk when they thought he wasn’t around he carefully stayed hidden. They had spent most of the afternoon talking about boxing and their favourite make of pipe until Crystal had turned up. 

‘What you got there, Crystal?’ 

‘I ain’t got nothing!’ she spat back. 

‘Oh come on.’ 

‘What’s that then?’ 

There was a scuffling noise and torrent of swear words. 

‘Butcher’s prime beef cutlets!’ someone moaned reverently. ‘How did you get your paws on this lot?’ 

‘What does it matter to you?’ she cried defensively, ‘now give it back here!’ 

‘Merlin! What’re you so wound up for, you look on edge.’ 

‘What would Silas say if he knew you were keeping all this meat to yourself?’ 

There were more scuffling sounds along with an odd clonking noise, coming from another direction. Remus turned to see Whizzy hurrying down the tunnel, a colander plonked on his head like a helmet. Whizzy ran straight toward Remus, clonking all the way, the others abruptly went quiet and looked round at them. 

‘Where did you come from?’ one of the men asked in surprise. 

Remus shrugged non-committedly and was suddenly very thankful that Whizzy couldn’t talk and give him away. Whizzy completely ignored them, handed Remus the colander, and went hurrying off again presumably in search of something else to play with. 

‘You’ll train with me won’t you Remus,’ Floyd declared. 

‘Train?’ Remus asked blankly. 

‘Boxing,’ Floyd said miming punches with his fists. 

‘Erm …’ Remus prevaricated. 

‘Yeah come on,’ Floyd decided for him, getting up and directing Remus – who was still holding the colander - outside. 

Floyd took off into the woods to what was clearly a favourite spot, underneath the canopy of a large beech tree where it was quiet and sheltered. It provided an opportunity for Remus to talk to Floyd more, outside of the groupthink of the male werewolves. It also gave him an opportunity to learn how to box properly. The bruising from his last boxing match had faded now but the memory was enough encouragement to him to improve in case they wanted a rematch.

Floyd started clearing some of the bigger branches out of the way, so they couldn’t trip on them, Remus stooped down to help him and began his questioning.

‘Do you just fight amongst yourselves?’ he probed, ‘or with other packs too?’ Remus added in attempt to make the question less conspicuous. 

‘Well, yeah,’ Floyd answered somewhat unhelpfully. 

Remus tried again. ‘How long has Silas been the leader?’ 

‘Don’t know, he was leader before I got here, and that’s eight years ago.’ 

‘How did you get here?’ 

Floyd laughed, ‘if you want to stay around, you don’t ask about that. Come on.’ 

Remus took the hint and conversation stopped as the practice match started, or rather, Floyd used him as a punch bag.

They were both panting now and sweat dribbled down Remus’ nose despite the chill in the air.

They had both stepped back, trying to cool off for a moment when Floyd suddenly asked, ‘why do you want to stay?’ 

‘Well,’ Remus answered carefully, trying to gather his wits, ‘I’m not a wizard, not fully … and of late opinions have been hardening, laws getting stricter - I used to do odd jobs but they dried up.’ 

‘Only yourself to blame there, after your stunt at Hogwarts,’ Floyd joked, ‘nobody else cares.’ 

Remus raised an eyebrow, questioningly. 

Floyd’s face darkened, the smile sliding away, raising his fists for another round, ‘fuck the Ministry and their fucking jobs. We don’t need them.’ 

‘Who do you have?’ Remus asked but Floyd had gone silent now, his fists raised for another round, ‘you know the Death Eaters will not put up with werewolves forever? They’re obsessed with blood purity.’ he pressed. 

‘And?’ Floyd muttered as he began to spiral round Remus again, ‘it’s just the same old shit.’ 

‘Omphh!’ Remus groaned as Floyd sneaked a punch straight to his stomach, knocking his breath out. Remus looked up and saw that Floyd’s reflective mood had been short lived. 

‘You’re not bad for an amateur,’ Floyd happily assured him, clapping him on the back. 

* * *

Remus wiped his bloodied hands on the grass after giving the erklings their daily meal, today some woodpigeons, he had given it to them early as he was hoping to be able to meet Dumbledore today. He could see the erklings sharp fingers shredding the feathers off so that they could gnaw at the flesh beneath. They were not happy, and Remus couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. At first they had tried to escape from their enclosure, but the repellent netting did its job, and now they spent most of their time sulking in the feeble looking sapling that Remus had managed to include within their confines. 

There was a cracking of twigs behind him and Remus turned to see Ethelred walking over to him. 

‘You certainly know your stuff. Are you familiar with Professor Dylan Marwood’s work on human language adoption amongst magical creatures?’ Ethelred asked eagerly. 

‘The merpeople specialist? I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know his work particularly well,’ Remus said. He knew that Ethelred used to be a researcher in investigative astronomy, he no doubt missed his old academic life. ‘Most of what I know about magical creatures I just picked up, from people I’ve met, my dad. Getting hold of good books can be difficult.’ 

‘Mmm … Lupin? Dark creatures?’ Ethelred asked before snorting, unable to contain his amusement at the irony. 

Remus ignored the jibe instead he nodded and said quietly, ‘He was a Researcher. Spirituous non-beings were his speciality, but he knew about all sorts of magical creatures too’. It had been many years but he still missed his dad at times. 

Ethelred nodded but he didn’t seem to be listening, he was too occupied by his own thoughts. 

‘Dr Otieno must have finished his investigations into the volcanoes on Io by now ... It feels like the real world, you know outside of here, has just stood still … but of course I’m the one stood still really.’ 

Remus sighed and crouched down next to Ethelred, who was sat on the ground looking rather crumpled. He seemed to have lost more weight even in the few weeks Remus had been here. His too baggy clothes drooped around him, the hems were rolled up several times and an old rope served as belt to keep it all together. They both stared into the enclosure where the erkling nearest them was prying open a pigeon’s ribcage so it could devour its organs. 

‘You’re the only decent werewolf I’ve ever met. They’re all brutes even the kids, or _pups_ as they call them, they’re little horrors.’ 

‘They’re not that bad, just, troubled,’ Remus placated. The children did often mock Ethelred, but they took their cue from the rest of the pack. ‘Shouting at them isn’t helpful. It won’t stop them behaving badly because they’re so used to it.’ 

Ethelred didn’t say anything. 

‘You have kids don’t you?’ Remus asked gently. 

‘I’d rather not talk about that,’ Ethelred said, his shoulders hunching up defensively. 

Remus thoughts went back to his own lucky time at Hogwarts, surrounded by friends, and his lessons teaching him about the world, and – perhaps more importantly – providing stability and encouragement. 

‘Being in a werewolf pack isn’t actually that interesting - they need something to do, something to engage with.’ 

Ethelred laughed humourlessly, ‘You must know that you’re wasting your time with them. Haven’t your lot got more important things to look after?’ 

Remus felt himself tense up, how could Ethelred so easily disregard the children? ‘They’re not bad kids, I’m sure even Brad-’ 

‘What?’ Ethelred cut across him, ‘that little ratbag! You really are too optimistic for your own good.’ 

Remus smiled wryly, ‘I’ve never been called that before.’ 

His mind wondered unbidden back to Tonks and what she had told him one summers night, “You’d know perfectly well who I’ve fallen for, if you weren’t too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice”. As always when that memory surfaced, his insides fluttered happily, closely followed by a constricting pain of terror and guilt. 

‘It’s best to avoid confrontation,’ Remus sighed, that was what he had done with Tonks, taken himself out of the situation. Remus continued to Ethelred, ‘avoid taking sides-’ 

‘What!’ Ethelred cut across him again, sounding aghast. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Remus said sharply, suddenly realising what Ethelred was thinking, ‘educating a child is a completely different matter to defeating Voldemort.’ 

Ethelred jumped at the name, looking deeply unnerved. 

‘Right well I had better be off,’ Ethelred said hurriedly, getting to his feet. 

Remus called after him, but he was already retreating into the trees. Remus sighed and slowly stood up, he needed to take his chance now for a meeting with Dumbledore, resolving to himself that he could talk with Ethelred when he returned. 

He headed off at a brisk pace to The Salutation Inn, taking a longer but less visible route through the woods. The white washed stone building seemed to peer out at him from under its heavy slate roof. On a neat post outside was the sign; a depiction of two jolly wizards in travelling cloaks shaking hands. Remus had timed his trip to co-inside with Sunday lunch, and a look through one of the small square windows revealed a busy pub with witches and wizards tucking into roast chicken, potatoes and gravy. It was easy for him to quietly enter and make his way to the fireplace and disappear off to The Hog’s Head Inn. The Order had other methods of communication besides flooing of course but it had been decided that they were not as safe, as he was without a wand and had no guarantee of not being searched. 

He clambered out the fireplace into the dingy pub, the atmosphere was very different from The Salutation Inn. It was, as usual, unsettlingly quiet, despite being filled with its hooded and disguised patrons. Aberforth looked up from the grubby glass he was polishing with an even grubbier cloth. Remus went up to the bar and looked into those blue eyes that were always startlingly like his brothers. Before Remus could speak, Aberforth already seemed to know why he was there and he threw down his cloth, as if irritated by the interruption to his cleaning schedule, and motioned Remus into the backroom. 

As Remus waited for Dumbledore to arrive he found himself absentmindedly staring round the room. There were a few thread-bare chairs and dusty cabinets but the most striking item was a portrait of a young girl looking out serenely from her spot above the fireplace. Remus watched her for a while but she simply stood and smiled sweetly. With little else to look at Remus went to the grimy window and peered out at the deserted street. 

He could just see the towers of Hogwarts castle in the distance, but the heavy mist brought on by the Dementors made it difficult to see clearly. The students would be making their way down to the Great Hall for their lunch by now, most likely Harry would be there with them. As he pictured them he felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt, he had told him he would write, but he had had little opportunity. No, that was just an excuse – he could write now. And yet he did not. Tonks was here too, perhaps just a couple of streets away, watching for suspicious behaviour and guarding the locals from Dementors. It must be exhausting work. They both felt so remote from him now, uncontactable, as if in another world. 

‘Welcome back, Remus.’ 

Remus turned to see Albus Dumbledore standing by the door, his long white beard glistening and his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, a comfortingly familiar sight. 

‘It feels like an age,’ Remus smiled. 

‘Yes, alas, the passage of time is remarkably inconsistent,’ Dumbledore sighed. 

‘You know I could report to someone else in the Order,’ Remus offered all too aware of the many demands on Dumbledore’s time. 

‘It’s no trouble, Remus,’ Dumbledore said lightly as he settled himself comfortably into an armchair, each hand resting on the armrests. There was a nasty jolt in Remus’s stomach as he saw that his right hand was shrivelled and blackened, it looked like it had already died and was just waiting to drop off. Remus couldn’t help but stare at it. 

‘An unfortunate accident,’ Dumbledore said calmly folding his hands in his lap, the injured one carefully hidden from view. ‘My hunch was correct then?’ he said cutting to the subject at hand, ‘the university students of Sheffield are not, in fact, having wild all night parties in abandoned buildings. It always does help keeping abreast of the muggle newspapers.’ 

Remus shifted his gaze from Dumbledore’s hands and tried to focus. Dumbledore wasn’t worried, so he shouldn’t be. 

‘Yes, Greyback has made it his headquarters, though thankfully he wasn’t there when I was. Sköll and Hati were.’ Dumbledore nodded in recognition of their names and Remus continued, ‘they sent me to a pack in the Black Mountains, led by Silas.’ 

Again Dumbledore nodded. 

‘They’re active in the Black Market, dangerous magical creatures and the like. That’s why I’m there, to see to the dark creatures they’re breeding, at least that’s what I’ve been told.’ 

Dumbledore inclined his head, ‘I think we can be certain that Greyback intends to use you for more than that.’ He sat quietly for a moment, considering his next question, ‘does Silas seem loyal to Greyback?’ 

‘Not particularly, but he does obey him. Greyback often calls men up - just the men not the women - to Sheffield …’ 

‘Taking them away from Silas’s influence to recruit them.’ Dumbledore finished for him. ‘Do you think there will be conflict?’ 

Remus hesitated, ‘perhaps …’ 

‘If Silas won’t recognise Greyback as – ah, head of the werewolves, he will likely take steps to bring him into line.’ 

‘I should imagine so, but there’s time yet, I think.’ Remus said carefully, ‘the packs primary concerns are just everyday living, getting food and firewood … and alcohol,’ he added with a small smile but it soon turned into a frown. ‘Of course that’s what makes Greyback’s rhetoric so appealing, an escape from mere survival.’ 

Dumbledore’s eyes flashed with anger, before turning more reflective. 

‘Although they did have a big party at Halloween,’ Remus told him lightly.

Remus regretted it immediately. At the mention of Halloween Dumbledore’s eyes became altogether too understanding, as he carefully scrutinised Remus over his half-moon spectacles as if looking for signs of his cracking and falling apart. 

Remus suppressed a frustrated sigh and carried on his analysis of the pack, mechanically detailing everything he could remember. 

‘Oh, Remus,’ Dumbledore smiled sadly, making Remus squirm uncomfortably like a child caught out on a lie. 

‘Repressing our memories is not the same as moving on, Remus, healing and strength does not come from not feeling.’

Remus smiled, not knowing how else to react.

‘Time’s getting on, I really ought to be going,’ Remus declared avoiding Dumbledore’s gaze he exited as quickly as was politely possible. 

* * *

When Remus got back to the caves it quickly became clear that nobody had noticed his absence, instead they were all talking about Ethelred’s absence. Brad was sat in the middle of a group of enthralled werewolves telling them about their argument. 

‘-and he said, ‘I mean it’,’ Brad exulted, using a high whiny voice to signify Ethelred, ‘so I did it again.’ 

Remus moved closer so he could see clearly. 

‘He just marched off,’ Brad said, from his central position sat on a rock before a group of werewolves who were all laughing now, ‘I must have been the last person to see him.’ 

‘So he wasn’t eaten by the troll, that’s a shame,’ Crystal sighed. 

‘There’s still time yet,’ Anatol said with a barking laugh. 

Remus hoped that Ethelred had just gone to clear his mind and that he would be back tomorrow. He had wanted to apologise to him. Remus feared for him, as, although it was never made clear, he suspected you couldn’t simply just get up and leave the pack for good. He went to bed that night feeling troubled: how had he managed to alienate the only person in the pack who was actually anti-Voldemort. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore is so difficult to write! I'm still not sure I've got it right, but it'll have to do for now


	9. Ethelred’s Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually ready to post last Monday but it is just so un-Christmassy that I decided to leave it. Remus has got a long way to go yet, so buckle in.

Ethelred had disappeared just two days before, and Remus had never had a chance to talk to him. Now it was too late, Remus was staring at his severed hand. It had been impaled on a wooden stake, and hammered in to the soft ground by the Glass Lake while the pack slept. There was a tight pain in his chest, as his heart seemed to constrict with horror. He was disgusted, but he couldn’t look away. The hand was grey coloured and rigid, reddish rope marks twisted around the wrist where he must have been bound. Remus felt sick to think of what Ethelred’s last hours must have been like. On the ground below, written in blood, were crude capitals: ‘DEATH TO TRAITORS’. 

There was, for the most part, little sympathy amongst the pack. It was generally agreed that Ethelred must have tried to contact the Ministry, and the pack were grateful for Greyback’s response; they felt protected. 

‘Fuckin’ sneak.’ 

‘Good job Greyback got him.’ 

‘The Ministry could have rooted us all out!’ 

Remus thought that Silas was unusually distant, he stood stiffly with his back turned to them and Ethelred’s remains, staring out across the lake. 

‘You not gettin’ any bright ideas Remus?’ Scabior called out to him, to guffawing laughter from the crowd. 

‘Nah Remus ain’t _that_ stupid,’ Floyd joked. 

‘You don’t think the Man will be coming?’ Tony asked nervously. 

‘Nah, Greyback will have sorted it,’ Scabior said blithely, before adding excitedly, ‘Hairy-Heart can tell us what happened when he gets back from Sheffield.’ 

Remus’s mind lost track of the conversation as he remembered when he had first met Ethelred; he had been in the hospital bed next to Arthur, alone at Christmas. Remus had sat with him, and talked to him. Tried to raise his hopes, that as a skilled wizard he could get by. 

The pups pushed their way in to get a closer look. Remus quickly scooped Whizzy up, his head tucked in his shoulder so he couldn’t see. He tried to shoo the others away but they ducked around him eager to see like the rest of the pack.

‘Ergh, it’s disgusting,’ Lucia said, her nose wrinkling up in distaste. 

‘Come away then,’ Remus said as he struggled with a wiggling Whizzy. 

‘Why is there only the hand?’ Vincent asked as he stared up at it, seemingly captivated. 

‘The rest of him will be nailed up outside other packs,’ Rakesh told them bluntly. 

Oscar, looking rather green-faced, made a rapid retreat. 

‘Has Greyback done this before?’ Remus asked over Whizzy’s head.

‘When he needs to,’ Rakesh shrugged, as he walked away.

‘How do you know it’s Ethelred?’ Lucia asked weakly. 

Vincent squinted at it more closely, ‘they’re his chubby fingers. What?’ He added defensively as Zita and Lucia gave him a withering look, ‘he does have chubby fingers.’ 

‘He _did_ have chubby fingers,’ Brad snorted. 

‘Where’re the pups?’ Grandmother’s rasping voice echoed out of the cave to which she was increasingly confined. Her breathing was becoming worse as each day passed, her body frailer and weaker, though she attributed it all to the colder weather. 

‘Go on in now,’ Remus pressed, as the pups ignored Grandmother’s call, ‘there’s nothing else to see.’

‘Come on you lot, the pigeons won’t pluck themselves,’ she barked impatiently. 

Remus was unsure if she was trying to protect the pups or if she was frustrated at not being able to get out and have a good look for herself. Either way at the sight of Grandmother hobbling down the tunnel, one hand propping herself up against the wall as she went, Whizzy reached out to her. Remus set him down and watched as the little boy went running off to see her, Lucia and Oscar trailing in after him. As he turned back he saw Brad’s outstretched hand reaching out to prod Ethelred’s remains. 

‘Don’t touch that!’ Remus snapped. 

‘Why not? It’s just dead, like the meat.’ Brad said looking far too satisfied at having shocked Remus. 

Remus stared dumbly at the boy before him and tried to form some conclusive answer, but before he could, Zita burst in. 

‘You’re bloody sick! It’s Ethelred.’ 

‘What? So just because it’s got a name your scared of it? So if I called the sheep _fluffy_ you wouldn’t eat it?’ 

‘That’s not food!’ She cried pointing at Ethelred’s hand and then to him, ‘You sick basted!’ 

‘Well I know that it’s far too bony -’ 

‘Enough! ’ Remus snapped out of patience with Brad’s attention seeking. 

Brad started laughing, a deliberately loud and taunting ‘Ha-Ha-Ha’.

Pale and angry Zita shouted back, throwing curses and swear words at Brad as if they were missiles.

‘Go on Vincent,’ Remus said pushing the wide-eyed Vincent towards the Sleeping Caves.

Remus inserted himself between Brad and Zita. Some of the pack had noticed their fight by now and had started laughing, gathering around for a good look.

Zita spat at Remus, then spun round and pushed her way past the crowd to the caves, whether she had been aiming for him or Brad he didn’t know. Remus wiped the spittle off his face and made his own escape, heading off around the lake.

On shaking legs he almost jogged half way round before his pace slowed. He took several deep lungful’s of air as he walked. He could still see it. His gaze was drawn across the lake, as if pulled there by some bewitching spell. He was getting closer again now, as he came round the side of the lake. He stared at it although the sight, the smell, was already stamped into his mind.

If he hadn’t been here would Ethelred still be alive? Was this a warning meant for him? He had truly hoped after their meeting in the hospital that Ethelred, who was a skilled wizard, would be ok. That he wouldn’t end up in a pack in the first place. How had it come to this? 

Jack stepped up to him, demanding attention.

‘Could you get a gytrash to Knockturn Alley?’ Jack asked him in a business like tone that Remus thought was indecent before Ethelred’s remains. 

Somewhat startled by the subject, Remus didn’t answer immediately.

‘Well?’ Jack prompted impatiently. 

‘With a magically sealed crate it’s possible,’ Remus answered slowly.

‘We’re getting one,’ Jack said, but without bothering to fill in the details. 

‘Why do you want to catch one?’ Remus asked, trying to direct his thoughts to the conversation. 

‘To fight of course,’ Jack told him bluntly. 

Remus ran his hand through his hair tiredly, he should have known. 

‘You don’t want to do that,’ he sighed, ‘fresh out of a pack they’ll just hide,’ he added quickly at seeing Jack’s darkening expression. 

‘Well how do people make them fight?’ Jack demanded, ‘you do know don’t you? You’re here to be useful.’ Jack said hotly, his eyes flashing. 

Remus looked away for a moment and his eyes involuntarily latched once more onto Ethelred’s remains. He tore his eyes away. 

‘Keep them on their own, long enough to be desperate, a week will do it, much more and they’ll be ill.’ Remus said, recalling what he had been told by a rather unpleasant man he had once had to share a room with. 

Jack gave a brisk nod and left, leaving Remus alone by Ethelred’s hand. 

The crowd around the hand had slowly dispersed as they all resumed their normal activities, but no one seemed to want to take the hand down. Eventually Silas unceremoniously pulled it up and tossed it out into the lake where it landed with an undignified plop and sank down out of sight. 

Remus felt disconnected as the rest of pack went about their everyday routines, there was comfort in routine, he knew. Comfort in boiling a cup of tea or curling up with a book, but his usual comforts weren’t here. Although he had developed a routine over his weeks spent in the Black Mountains, it wasn’t the same. Everything struck him as being so strange, so alien from himself. There was nothing familiar here for him, nothing had that warmth or reassurance he craved now. He wasn’t part of the pack, he didn’t want to be part of the pack. 

Despite how hollow it felt Remus followed his own routine and went to feed the erklings like he did every other day. This was where he last seen Ethelred, crumpled and dejected. Ethelred had tried to make a stand. It had taken bravery, foolish bravery, for him to go against Greyback. Remus should have helped him. He should have made sure he had the protection of the Order. He should have done what he had been sent here to do. 

* * *

Evening was drawing in by the time Hairy-Heart returned from the Sheffield Squat, laden under the weight of a large heavy looking box. As soon as he arrived he was inundated with questions about Ethelred but it soon transpired he didn’t know much about it. Although he was very willing to tell everyone about how Greyback and his cronies had dragged Ethelred screaming into the transformation cellar and that he didn’t come out again in one piece. Remus sat and listened from where he was huddled on his bed, tightly holding the blanket around him as if it could keep him together.

Hairy-Heart didn’t just have gruesome stories to tell he had also brought back with him a large gytrash crate, which was filled to the brim with bottles of alcohol and two muggle pumpkin shaped buckets full of sweets that looked as if they had been stolen off of young trick-or-treaters. 

He started jovially passing sweets and bottles around like some perverse Father Christmas.

‘Couldn’t give us some more useful stuff could he?’ Rakesh grumbled, ‘some proper tools or -’ 

‘Sanitary wear,’ one of women added loudly, making the women laugh and the men grimace awkwardly. 

‘Oh shut up,’ Scabior said, as he excitedly examined the crate. 

‘That Immortal Fire is great!’ Charley pointed out. 

Blind Bill laughed, ‘it’s Gubraitian Fire you idiot.’ 

Charley shrugged, ‘still great.’ 

‘Will he do it?’ Hairy-Heart asked Jack, nodding carelessly towards Remus. 

Jack nodded, ‘We’ll catch it tonight. Won’t we Remus?’ 

He clapped Remus on the shoulders startling him. Jack didn’t notice and began loudly rounding up a party to join them. 

That night Remus headed out to the woods with a large group armed with torches and the gytrash crate. Remus was thankful as it blocked out the cycling thoughts about Ethelred with physical work. After talking with Remus about gytrash behaviour, Jack formed a plan and they fanned out, torches in hand, creeping through the woodland. As they went deeper Remus could see glimpses of their ghostly bodies, darting between the silvery birch trees. Jack hissed to them, directing them to move their wall of light to corner a gytrash, but they rushed past like wind. The gytrash’s howled and the werewolves howled back, enjoying this hunting game. They chased and stalked through miles of woodland, exhausting both the werewolves and the gytrashs. Most of the night had passed by the time they were dragging the gytrash crate, now with a gytrash locked inside, back up to the caves. 

In the Sleeping Caves Remus nursed his wounds, he had deep scratches from the brambles and a small gytrash bite to his leg. As he lay in bed Remus found himself dwelling again on Greyback’s murder of Ethelred. He was physically exhausted but his mind kept traipsing down the same bleak trails of thought. Greyback was a monster. To maim and kill, poor, unfortunate Ethelred. Had he no empathy? No human feeling of compassion? No. He savagely, deliberately attacked people, even children. Remus’ hand went compulsively to that scar on his leg. He rubbed at in frustration feeling the leathery sinews with his fingers, the patched up remains of his skin after Greyback’s bite. How could anyone commit such cruelty?

But the more he condemned Greyback’s barbarity the more he remembered. He had killed too, it was war after all and he was a fighter. Remus twisted about in his bed but he couldn’t escape his own head. There had been that one, whispered the too truthful voice in his head. That one that plagued him. Surfacing from the dark corners of his mind where lurked all the memories he wanted to be hidden and forgotten, there was the Slytherin Chaser. 

Remus had been fighting a Death Eater in the woods, separated from the rest of the Order, trapped in a binding ropes charm, but he had twisted his way out, the charm hadn’t been done properly … 

The spell caster had probably been as afraid as he was, the voice in his head reminded him coldly. 

Remus had crawled out and the Death Eater tried to stop him, firing curses wildly, Remus scrambling behind bushes for some kind of cover, but he botched one of his spells and Remus had been able to wrench the man’s wand away from him. It had degenerated into a messy, desperate brawl. A blur of clawing hands and thrashing limbs in the dirt floor of the woods, Remus had got the better of him, grabbing handfuls of his hair and shoving his Death Eater masked face into a muddy puddle. And holding him there. Finally the man had stopped moving and Remus had rolled away, feeling nothing but exhaustion and a ringing in his ears. 

He laid there lost in the dreamlike dappled light coming through the canopy of leaves above him. He didn’t know how long he remained but eventually he turned his head to look at the lifeless man, the man he had just killed. Remus didn’t know what made him crawl back over, but he did, drawn to the body that day like he had been drawn to Ethelred’s hand today. Struggling with the weight he had rolled the dead man onto his back. He stared at the Death Eater mask, its cold metal design was still unnerving even when its wearer lay dead, he tore it off. 

Underneath was a boy from school; just over a year ago he had been the Slytherin Chaser, just over a year ago he would have been grinning in victory or scowling in concentration on the Quidditch pitch. Now his face was a swollen blotchy blue, almost alien and yet at the same time all too human. Remus vomited. Where there had been nothing there were now too many images forcing themselves into his consciousness, a confused mess of memories swirling round his mind, mixing his idle days at Hogwarts with the desperate war he was now in. After he had emptied his stomach onto the woodland floor, growing increasingly cold and shaky, he had found his wand and scrambled away. 

Remus pressed his hands into his face then ran his fingers through his hair, forcing his eyes to focus on the dancing light of the Gubraithian Fire. Why were some memories so sharp?

Because you deserve it, that cold voice in his head told him.

But he wasn’t like Greyback. He didn’t want it, he didn’t enjoy it. That animal savagery didn’t control him, did it? 

* * *


End file.
